Battle of Arendelle
by holdyourapplause
Summary: War has come to the Enchanted Forest, and all the realms threaten to fall in its wake. Killian, Emma, and their friends must battle dangerous enemies in their desperate bid to heal their families and unite their allies. Most importantly, they must protect their young daughter, Moriah Jones, upon whose fate all the worlds depend.
1. The Lion's Den

Regina let loose a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding as they finally entered the Crossings. The portal pathway had spun beneath their feet and over their heads, descending into a star-filled void. She'd seen more than a few freaky things in her time, but walking that swirling stone path into the Crossings had given her a queasy vertigo. She swallowed hard and forced herself to concentrate on the prisoner walking in front of them, mulling over how best to get useful information out of the man. She might not survive this trip into Asgard, but she'd be damned if she gave up an opportunity to question an enemy combatant. Somehow, she might be able to get information to her people that could tip the balance of the war.

The Asgardian was performing his part well, thus far. They had entered the portal at his heels, Rhys leading the way with his glowing orb key held aloft. Emma had her own hidden away in her pocket, but for now, they needed to appear like defeated prisoners being led into Asgard. Regina's wrists chafed at the rope looped around them. To outward appearances, she and Emma were securely bound, but a proper twist of the rope would free them easily. They were also convincingly bedraggled after their day spent fighting Sentinels and busting Ruby out of the Dark Palace. Had that really just been this morning? thought Regina, tiredly.

Ruby trotted in wolf form at the man's side with her usual easy grace, as though it were her natural place in the world. Given that she had already spent months at his side in this way, she wouldn't raise any suspicions by accompanying Rhys on a trip to Asgard. Regina rolled her eye as she watched the pair, continuing to be irritated by her lieutenant's piss-poor choices where this Asgardian was concerned. Emotions coursed between the two of them too strongly for Regina to be able to predict what either would do in any given situation, and they could not afford unpredictability. But she had little choice in the matter now. They were on their way into Asgard itself, on what was likely to be a suicide mission. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

"You're making me nervous, Swan. What are you expecting to attack us, exactly?" she murmured to Emma, who was glancing behind them frequently enough to make Regina twitchy. The Crossings were a strange place, even by Regina's tolerant standards. They were striding through an ocean of stars, their boots ringing dully on an ancient-looking stone path. They seemed to be alone in the vastness of the universe. It was…unnerving.

"Last time we came through, there was a huge troll guarding one of the crossroads. We were lucky to get out alive."

"That's it?" asked Regina, derisively. "You're really off your game these days if you can't handle a single troll."

Emma shot her a dirty look.

"Wasn't exactly your average troll."

"Anyway," interrupted Regina, "Ruby said she came through here with Rhys without a problem. Maybe the way we're going is safer than where you traveled."

"Hope so."

"Is that a crossroads ahead?"

"Yeah…looks empty," said Emma, hopefully.

The crossroads was marked simply with a dusty pillar erected in the center of a broad circle where four paths intersected. Regina startled at seeing the carvings on its faces. They looked suspiciously like the symbols she'd seen the Norns cutting into the bark of that horrible tree. She searched her memory for any familiar symbols, but couldn't be sure she recognized any.

Without pausing at the pillar, Rhys began leading them down one of the pathways, but Ruby sat back on her haunches and growled. Regina tensed.

"Hey Asgardian, I don't think Ruby agrees with your choice of directions," said Regina, threateningly. She loosed her bonds and reached for her chest, preparing to pull out his heart and give it a good squeeze. The Asgardian stopped, cocking his head questioningly at the wolf. He raised his hands slightly as though in surrender and returned to them. Ruby growled again, sounding a bit peeved. She turning her back on him, tail lifted in high dudgeon, and trotted toward another of the pathways.

"Clever girl," he murmured to Ruby as she passed, as though impressed against his will.

"Just where did you think you were taking us?" asked Regina, still contemplating taking out his heart and reminding him what was at stake for him if he betrayed them. She wasn't really surprised that he would try something. Of course he'd be testing their boundaries, trying to find a way out of his predicament. She'd do the same.

"A shortcut," he replied, with a small shrug, as though to say it made no difference to him which was they went.

Regina approached the pillar and studied the markings. She pulled her field notebook from her pocket and made a quick sketch of each of the symbols along with a rudimentary map of the Crossings they'd traveled thus far. Ruby knew which fork took them to Asgard, so Regina made a note identifying its symbol, which was a trio of linked triangular shapes that reminded Regina of mountains, followed by another nonsensical string of markings. The road from which they'd come was marked by a serpent eating its own tail and a cluster of indecipherable squiggles. The symbol for the road that Rhys had tried to lead them down was an eye inside a triangle inside a circle.

She looked up from her sketches to find Rhys staring at her. He seemed to find her puzzling over the markings to be amusing.

"It's really not surprising how easily conquered your world was, given how little your kind has remembered of the old ways."

Regina repressed the urge to pull out his heart simply for the joy of forcing him to smack himself in the face. She settled for giving him a withering glare. She'd enjoy making him hurt, when the time was right. For now, the mission was all that mattered.

"Let's go," she said, pointing at the path where Ruby sat waiting.

Rhys complied, and they set off again.

"You said my son is in a place called the Temple of Questioners. Is that some kind of church?" asked Emma.

The Asgardian ignored the question, instead asking with a puzzled expression, "Curious that both of you call the boy your son. Perhaps my understanding of human anatomy is lacking."

"Answer her question," snapped Regina.

"The Temple is the seat of power for the Order of the Sun."

"What's the Order of the Sun?"

Rhys turned his head and gave them a questioning look, as if to judge whether they were joking. He snorted with disbelief at realizing they truly didn't know.

"Cut the 'ignorant human' crap and just tell us," growled Emma.

"Marching right into Asgard without even knowing what you're up against," he muttered, shaking his head. "I thought you were mad, but it seems you're just foolish."

Ruby growled unhappily at this, and Regina thought she saw a flash of apology on Rhys' face as he glanced down at the wolf.

"The Order is the most powerful force in Asgard. They're something akin to warrior monks."

"Magically powerful?" asked Regina.

He nodded. "Indeed. All the most powerfully gifted boys are culled from the populace at a young age and sent to the Tower. They are the power behind the throne."

"Throne? Our intel says there is no king or queen in Asgard," said Regina.

"There has been no royalty since the Long War. Fifteen centuries ago."

"But there's still a throne? How does that work?"

"A prophecy was made by the last great Seeress at the time of our defeat. It said that the throne would sit empty until Odin's return. The throne has since been held in trust by the Order. They have quietly ruled Asgard ever since, albeit via the proxy of the aristocracy. They have very deep coffers."

"Odin? Isn't he a god or something?" asked Emma.

Rhys's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "So you aren't completely ignorant, then," he said, then continued before she could reply. "Yes, though demigod might be the better term. There are beings in our world, like Odin, who live mortal lives with unimaginable magical power. They die, and live again, an unending circle. The Order is devoted to worship of these beings. Though some would say they are more devoted to-"

He stopped himself, as if he'd said too much.

"More devoted to what?" asked Regina, her interest piqued. This was more intel than they'd ever gotten in the last five years.

Rhys remained silent.

"You keep saying we're fools who are going to die on this quest, anyway. What's the harm in telling us?" she prodded. "Besides, you know I can force you. Might as well come out with it."

He sighed, but began again, resigned.

"There are some who say the Order is too powerful. That they use their connection to the demigods to augment their own control over Asgard."

"Assuming there really is such a thing as demigods, why does the order have this connection to begin with? What makes them so special?"

"They are the ones destined to find and raise up the Wanderer when he returns."

"This Wanderer is Odin, I take it?"

"Yes. And twelve years ago, they found him," he replied, sounding less than thrilled about it.

Regina missed a step. "What? He really exists?"

"So they tell us. In truth, the demigods have been something of a distant memory for Asgardians. We are much longer lived than humans, but even for us the Long War is ancient history. It has been an age since any of Odin's ilk walked among us. Mostly, we forgot about them and rebuilt our world from the ruins of the War. Only the Order remembered, and waited for the Prophecy to come to pass. I never thought I would see it myself."

Rhys sounded weary, almost regretful. Was it possible that not all Asgardians were happy with this conquest they were making of other worlds? Ruby had reported to her that Rhys seemed sympathetic to their plight. Or he had, at least, before her betrayal was revealed and they took him prisoner.

"So the ruler of Asgard is a twelve-year old?" asked Emma, confused.

"Fifteen actually, since he was three years when they discovered him. Technically he is ruler, though he has not yet been publicly revealed. The Order has had him closeted somewhere, training in secret since his birth."

"Then how do you know he's really who they say he is?"

"There have been signs. Things foretold have come to pass."

"Like the opening of the Crossings? Soria Moria?" asked Emma.

Rhys glanced back at Emma with another surprised expression.

"You know more than I would've guessed, Emma Swan. Yes, these among other things are signs that were predicted at the end of the Long War. The Order has maintained an invisible grip on the levers of power for centuries, readying for the day the Wanderer reappeared."

"Were you always a soldier?" asked Regina. She needed to feel him out on the capabilities and training of their military, to find weaknesses.

"No. I was not always a soldier," replied Rhys, curtly and with a tone that said this was a topic he would prefer be left alone.

"Were you a merchant? A farmer?" pressed Regina. "Fisherman? Courtier?"

He stopped mid-stride and half-turned his head, glaring at her from the corner of his eye. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"My past is my own. Do not question me further on this."

Regina sensed she'd struck a sore spot. Good. She could use this. She shifted tactics, keeping him off-base.

"Tell me about the Temple. How is it guarded?"

Rhys' postured loosened at the change in subject and he began walking again. "It is a fortress. Every man in it is a living weapon."

"How many?"

"Acolytes in training, perhaps five hundred. Their numbers have surged since Odin's re-emergence. Fully trained Brothers…there are likely fifty at most within the Temple. They are dispersed throughout Asgard and the outer worlds finding new recruits and coordinating the war."

"Anything else? Sentinels?"

"Undoubtedly. Most are deployed at the fronts, but there will be a number within the Temple."

"And where do they keep their future ruler?"

Rhys shrugged. "He could be in the Temple training as an anonymous Acolyte, or hidden with a family in plain sight. Only the Order knows for sure, until they make his debut when he comes of age."

"Why is Asgard conquering other worlds?"

Rhys hesitated before answering. "That is…complicated."

"Enlighten us," drawled Regina.

"Yeah, we'd love to hear your justification for slaughtering innocent people," added Emma pointedly.

"You'd have to know the history of the Long War to understand. The worlds were all closely linked before the war. Commerce, art, languages, people…all of it flowed easily between our worlds via the Crossings. There was a time this place was full of caravans of merchants and politicians and travelers of all descriptions," he said, gesturing at the desolate avenues around them. There was a tinge of sadness in his voice. "There was also strong magic tying all of the races together, a connectedness. The war severed all of this."

"What started the war?"

"Again, it's complicated. The demigods always played out their own dramas and intrigues amongst themselves. The histories tell us that the Wanderer had a falling-out with another demigod, one who was like a brother to him. The ripple effects of this conflict swept up the mortal races in their wake, and splintered them. When the war was over, all were crippled by it and magic damaged forever. The mortal lives of the Wanderer and his nemesis were ended, though the details were lost to time. They were foretold not to be reborn for centuries. Asgard was torn asunder, our people decimated. It took generations of toil to rebuild our strength. Some would say we would've been better off to remain as we were with all the worlds separate, but at peace."

"Why couldn't you?" demanded Regina angrily.

"The Order has the weight of prophecy behind them, and they say we are destined to reunite the worlds. And to rule them all."

"And you just do whatever this Order tells you to do?"

"Don't presume to know anything about my motivations!" snapped Rhys angrily. He refused to tell them more, short of torturing him, so they let him be for the moment.

She shared a curious glance with Emma. Maybe not all Asgardians were happy about this war, and perhaps this could work to their advantage. They walked in silence for a time, Regina's mind racing with possibilities. So much had been a mystery to them for five years, their people suffering and dying at the hands of Asgardians without even understanding why. Now she had information, and that was going to help them win this war. She just needed to figure out how to get this intel to her people.

They traveled silently for the better part of an hour. Finally, the path began to rise and curve until they found themselves atop another spinning portal. As they wound into its center, the infinity of space winked away. Around them stretched a moonlit field, stalks of wheat rustling gently in the silver light. Regina drunk deeply of the thick, sweet air. Every breath she'd taken for the past five years had been tinged with acrid smoke and the taste of burnt forest and death. There was none of that here. Just soft evening air, clean and pure. She shook herself out of a daze. Despite the loveliness of this place, she had to be on guard. Emma beside her was also taking stock of their surroundings, hands out and ready to summon magic. Asgard, Regina realized with a shock, was absolutely thrumming with magic. She closed her good eye, marveling at the potency of it pressing in on her skin like electricity in a storm. Her lips curved in a wicked smile. The Evil Queen had arrived in Asgard.


	2. Ashes of Dragons

"Anchors aweigh!"

A metallic thrum of chains vibrated through the planks beneath his feet, followed by a distant splash. Killian counted the seconds until the chain stopped moving, and judged the depth of the water at a quarter fathom. They would anchor well away from shore for now. He settled a loop of rope over one of the spokes of the ship's wheel and let the Jolly Roger settle.

He scanned the island looming off the port side with his spyglass, searching for signs of their winged companion. Berk appeared much as he remembered it. The dramatic peak rose from the sea in a rugged spike, the humble buildings of the village tucked among the cracks and crevices like so many wooden barnacles. He frowned as he focused the glass on where he remembered the docks to be located. He could make out remnants of wood piles and a collection of tangled debris, rather different from the neat rows of piers and oared ocean-going vessels he recalled. But then, he'd never truly visited the real Berk. Like the Storybrooke where his daughter had been born, and all the places they had picked up their companions, the Berk they'd rescued Hic and Toothless from had been an empty, false version of itself. The Berk before him now had clearly sustained heavy damage at some point. The masts of a few destroyed ships jutted above the waterline, indicating that many had sunk whilst tied to their moorings. It would be far too dangerous to attempt to dock here. They would have to find another way ashore.

It had been hours since Toothless had departed the Jolly Roger with Hic and Merida astride, and Killian was beginning to feel nervous. As if his worry had summoned them, however, the dark shape of Toothless suddenly materialized out of the clouds. Killian trained his spyglass on the dragon. He could make out only one rider, immediately identifiable by flaming red hair.

"Is that just Merida alone? Where's Hic?" asked Elsa, who was watching the dragon's approach as well, shading her eyes against the sun. She was still looking distinctly green around the gills and wobbled a bit where she stood. The lass wasn't much of a sailor.

"I suppose he's remained behind on Berk," replied Killian, "and we can't risk docking. I know you're not feeling your best, but could you perhaps fashion something to get us to shore if need be?"

Elsa nodded, then grimaced as the motion apparently worsened her seasickness. Gusts whipped her braid around her shoulders as Toothless slowed and lowered himself to the deck with massive sweeps of his wings. Merida swung down from his back, expression severe. Killian thought the dragon looked distinctly forlorn as well, his head drooping piteously.

"Where's Hic? Is he all right?" asked Killian, jumping down the steps to meet her.

She sighed and shook her head, her blue eyes full of sadness. "No, not verra, I'm afraid."

"Is he injured?"

"He's no in any danger, but…well, ye'd best come and see for yourselves. I dunna have the words to describe it."

With a sinking feeling, Killian made preparations to disembark. Arthur had proven himself a capable sailor during their travels. Killian handed over his spyglass and left the lad in command. Moriah, thankfully, still slept belowdecks. The little lass had had a rough night, continually waking from terrors. No doubt missing her mother. A flash of anger toward Emma startled him. It wasn't his wife's fault, he knew. She had to rescue Henry. But Killian couldn't help but be angry, for little Moriah especially. The elf Saefara would be with her, keeping a close watch in case she woke again. Daínn, her other bodyguard, was perched in the crow's nest high above. His daughter would be safer here than coming with him, but it was never easy leaving her behind.

He put thoughts of Emma aside and nodded to Elsa, who summoned a shimmering stream of ice and directed it over the side of the ship in the shape of a ladder. She climbed over the railing, and he followed closely behind. The ship heaved slightly as Toothless took off again, Merida on his back. He was glad Elsa could summon a vessel made of ice. He'd rather row a boat than fly, any day. Down past the rungs of the ladder, there waited a good sized, flat-bottomed boat complete with two comfortable looking seats. Something seemed to be missing, however.

"Um, Elsa I think you forgot the-"

"Oars? I've thought of something better, you'll see," responded Elsa, with a grin.

He'd barely gotten to his seat when the boat accelerated smoothly and rapidly. The source of their movement soon became obvious. A waterwheel sculpted from ice, with long flat blades oriented parallel with the water, had risen and now occupied the back end of the craft. The wheel was churning quickly, forcing the boat forward.

"Ingenious!" he shouted over the wind. It was a little unnerving, as magic always was, but the idea was simple enough. And he didn't even have to do any rowing!

Elsa beamed with pride. "Initially I thought of sculpting creatures made of ice to push us there, but then I thought of mills, the way they use the force of the water to turn big wheels to crush grain. Why not use the principle in reverse? Much more efficient than ice dolphins!"

Killian had to agree. The ride was short due to their impressive speed. Elsa slowed the wheel, as they had to navigate among scattered shipwrecks and destroyed piers. The boat nosed ashore, and they hopped to the rocky embankment. They began to climb the steep stone steps that led from the piers to the village high above. This part of the journey meshed perfectly with Killian's memory of it, to his annoyance. As he huffed his way upward, he was just grateful he didn't have to do it with a fifty stone toddler strapped to his back this time.

As they entered the village, he understood what Merida had meant about not having words to describe it. It was carnage. Scattered thickly through the charred remains of Berk were a number of skeletons, both human and dragon, bleached by the sun and salt air. It must have happened long ago, as there was no flesh remaining, no carrion birds. Killian's heart ached for the lad who had just returned home after searching for five years, and found this travesty.

Hic was kneeling in the center of the meadow before a huge stone slab which emerged from the grass like a jagged tooth. Merida and Toothless stood beside him. As they approached, Killian could see the tears rolling down Hic's cheeks. He was staring unblinking at the stone slab, which had been carved crudely with a handful of runic letters and symbols. He rested his hand on Hic's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, mate," he murmured, not sure what else he could say. Hic's head bowed, overcome with emotion, voice choked.

"I…I finally made it home, and this…"

He gestured weakly at the destruction around them, unable to even look at it. Merida sank to her knees beside him and slid her arm around his shoulders.

"What do the runes say?" she asked gently. "Can you make them out?"

Hic nodded numbly.

"Whoever carved it was in a hurry, but I can read it."

"So there were survivors?"

Hic shrugged.

"It says that they went into the arms of the mother of dragons."

"Mother of dragons? Where is that, then?" asked Merida, looking around confusedly at the remains of the village.

"It's not a house. It's more of a refuge she built. For dragons."

"So she was a real person?"

"Yeah…she's my mom."

"Your mum?" asked Merida, sounding stunned. "You never mentioned …she's alive?"

"I don't know. If there were survivors, they must've gone to her dragon refuge."

"Where's this refuge located, mate?" asked Killian.

"About a day's flight west," replied Hic, climbing to his feet wearily. He was pointedly looking anywhere but the surrounding desolation as he crawled into the harness on Toothless' back. The dragon's great green eyes too were downcast. Hic reached a hand down for Merida.

"Hic," said the girl hesitantly, as she settled in behind him. "Would you like…I mean, should we bury…"

"No," said Hic, interrupting harshly. "We don't bury our dead. We send pyres out to sea. I'll return, someday. Right now, I have to go find what's left of my people."

Toothless lifted off with a leathery brush of wings. Killian and Elsa turned to head back down the stone pathway to the docks.

"I hope," said Elsa quietly, as they trudged downward, "that Arendelle has not met a similar fate."

"Aye, lass," replied Killian, "let's hope."

—

Merida clung to Hic's back, sick with anguish for him. She could feel the tension in his rigid body, every muscle taut as a bowstring. She felt much the same. Ever since they descended from the skies above Berk, and saw what awaited them, she'd been dwelling painfully on Dunbroch. Would it be her turn next? To find her home in ruins, her family's bones amidst the wreckage? She shuddered and clung tighter to Hic's warmth.

She focused instead on the surprising fact that Hic's mother was alive. He'd not mentioned her once in all their time journeying together. She guessed it must be a difficult relationship, for him to have kept so quiet. Or perhaps he just didn't want to confide in her. She frowned at the thought. Close as they were at times, he'd made it bloody clear he was promised to this Astrid woman. A tiny part of her hoped, just for a moment, that of the survivors from Berk, Astrid would not be among them. As soon as she thought it, Merida blushed with shame. Wishing a woman dead for love of a man was unworthy of her mother's daughter. She was not a prayerful type, but she offered a silent one now that for Hic's sake, Astrid lived still.

They flew on and on. The Jolly Roger had long since disappeared behind them. She was a fast ship, but no match for a Night Fury on the wing. Merida tried not to dwell on the fact they were leagues out to sea with no land in sight, atop a dragon who'd been flying the better part of the day. She removed one arm from Hic's waist and gently stroked Toothless' hide. The poor beast was just as affected as his rider by what they had seen. It had been a long day, and the beast would tire soon. Just when Merida was about to ask Hic if they were getting close, he pointed ahead of them. Leaning a bit to the side, she could see the jagged outline of an enormous iceberg.

With a surge of new energy, Toothless flew faster and dove for it. A dark shape emerged from one of the sparkling peaks and began winging its way toward them.

"Friend of yours?" shouted Merida over the wind.

Hic shrugged. They flew onward in tense silence until Toothless suddenly pulled up, looked back at them with a happy expression, then dove and twisted in a mid-air celebration.

"Whoa boy!" laughed Hic. "It's Tuffnut and Ruffnut, I think? But what's happened to their…oh god."

It was an odd dragon indeed, thought Merida, as they came closer. Having only seen Toothless, she'd wrongly assumed that they were all sleek and lithe like him. But this dragon was a vibrant yellowish green, thin and waspy with spiky protrusions along its body. Its tail was divided neatly into two identical slender lashes. The head and neck seemed somehow to be strangely lopsided, and it took her a moment to realize that, like the tails, there should've been two heads where now there was only one. The second neck ended abruptly in a scarred stump. The dragon's lone rider was waving frantically. Hic raised his own hand and waved frantically in return.

"Toothless! Hic!" shouted the rider, clearly a man despite the long braids hanging beneath his horned helmet.

"Tuff!" shouted Hic, urging Toothless forward.

The dragons hovered gracefully in the air, a short distance apart, and huffed in greeting.

"We thought you were dead, man! Where the hell have you been?"

Tuff, who was grinning at them in delighted shock, bore the unmistakable signs of battle on his face, in the form of a nasty burn scar that covered nearly half of his face. It appeared to be long healed, but he was lucky to still have both eyes by the looks of it.

"Long story!" shouted Hic. "Are there more of you? We just came from Berk."

Tuff sobered, the smile sliding from his face.

"We haven't been back since it happened."

"What happened to…" Hic trailed off sadly, gesturing to the scarred stump on the dragon's torso. "Where's Ruff?"

Tuff looked down, closing his eyes and clearly struggling to master himself. When he opened them again, the loss was written all over his face.

"Long story," he finally grunted. "Follow me, the Chief will tell you everything."

"The Chief?" asked Hic.

His question went unanswered as the one-headed dragon and his rider wheeled about. They were flying on swift wings back to the iceberg, and Toothless swooped to follow. Merida found herself getting nervous as they descended. Would Astrid be there? Hic's mother? Mostly she was anxious for Hic, knowing that all his questions were about to be answered, for good or ill. But Merida's gut twisted with the fear that she might be about to lose the man she loved.

They alighted on a flat expanse sheltered by large peaks of translucent ice. Waiting for them was Tuff, still mounted atop his dragon, and a second, even more intimidating beast. Its scales were a fiery red, tipped with orange and gold at the wings. A second rider, short of stature and with dark curls visible beneath his helmet, sat astride with his mouth hanging open.

"I don't believe it!"

"See, I told you it was him!" replied Tuff, with obvious satisfaction.

"Snotlout!" said Hic. Toothless leaped over to the dragons, who all greeted one another with happy nipping and tussling.

"Where in the name of Gobber's saggy left ball have you been? And WHO is this?" asked the broad-faced man, goggling at Merida.

"This is Merida," said Hic. She was pleased to hear a little protectiveness in his voice. "She's a friend."

Snotlout whistled low as he looked her up and down. Merida scowled at him, earning her a wink.

"I'll stay on watch, you take them to the Chief," said Tuff, giving Snotlout a shove.

"The Chief? Oh boy, this is going to be interesting!" cackled Snotlout. He urged his mount up into a low flight, leaving Toothless and his riders to catch up.

"See you later Tuff! Oh, by the way, if you see a ship approach, they're friends!" shouted Hic, as they sped after the red dragon.

The ice island was immense. They followed Snotlout through a series of tight valleys. Merida could see no sign of habitation, human or dragon. Then there was a dark opening in the side of an icy mountain, and they were flying right toward it. The red dragon disappeared into the blackness, Toothless right on its tail. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. She realized they were flying through a series of caverns, full of spiky stalactites. The dragons were agile enough to avoid any hazards, and before long they were popping back out into sunlight. Her jaw dropped.

The enormous mountain was hollowed out inside and flooded with light from above. The walls were mostly rock interspersed with ice. There were patches of sparse vegetation, populated with a handful of scrawny looking sheep, but mostly the space was empty. The sound of their wings echoed as they landed on a huge ledge about halfway up one side. There was a cave opening inward from the back of the ledge. Torchlight beckoned within.

"Come on," said Snotlout, waving them after him as he headed inside. They left Toothless to frolic with the red dragon. Hic hesitated, drawing Merida back with him. He swallowed, looking a little panicky.

"It'll be all right, Hic," whispered Merida. She took his hand and leaned in, planting a brief kiss on his cheek. Hic blushed, but didn't pull away. She gently tugged him into the cavern with her, to meet their fate together.

Torches lined the perimeter of a vast, smoky cavern. Dim light also filtered down from a circular opening high above. Several smaller caverns led off the main one. It reminded Merida a little of the bunker in the Enchanted Forest where they'd met the General. It had the sad look of a temporary refuge turned permanent by desperation. Snotlout was waiting for them at the entrance to one of the smaller caverns, bouncing impatiently.

"Boy, she is going to freak!" he chortled as he led them inside.

"Who's going to freak?" asked Hic nervously.

Their question was answered as soon as they emerged into a circular meeting room, crowded with rough hewn boulders that served as seating. A petite but fierce-looking blonde woman sat atop a crudely carved stone dais, listening with a frown to someone making a report about the paltry number of sheep and casks of grain they were setting aside for the upcoming winter. She glanced up, then her mouth dropped open and she stood slowly. She was dressed in layers of rough leather and wool, and had an impressive sword strapped at her side. On her brow rested a slender silver fillet. She was thin to the point of looking underfed, but still stunningly beautiful. Merida's blood froze as she realized that this must be Astrid. Beside her, Hic dropped Merida's hand, leaving her grasping cold emptiness. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She'd just lost Hic, but damned if she'd lose her dignity too. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Snotlout eyeing her with a curious expression, but she ignored him. She forced herself to watch as the man she loved greeted his long-lost girlfriend.

"Hic?" asked Astrid, her voice loud in the sudden silence of the hall. "Is it really you?"

"Uh, yeah. Hi?" said Hic, nervously, a hesitant smile edging onto his face. Astrid's eyes flicked to Merida and narrowed, her mouth pressing into a thin line. Merida regretted not letting Hic come alone to see Astrid. He deserved a chance to be with his girlfriend without Merida mucking everything up. She began slowly backing away, intending to step outside and leave them to it. But Astrid's voice rang out coldly, stopping her in her tracks.

"HI? HI? You've been gone for five years and I get a HI?!"

"Er-"

"Where the HELL have you been?" growled Astrid, her hands forming fists at her sides as she stomped toward them.

Hic stopped in his tracks, smile faltering. "It-it-wasn't, I mean, there was nothing-"

"You disappear, leave us to fend for ourselves. We thought you were DEAD!"

"I'm so sorry-"

"Sorry?! You're sorry?! Almost all of our dragons killed or taken. Almost all of our people murdered. WHERE WERE YOU?!" yelled Astrid hoarsely, practically nose to nose with Hic. Tears glittered in her blue eyes.

"It wasna his fault ya daft harpie!" snapped Merida, unable to stop herself. It was one thing for Astrid to steal Hic away from her, quite another for her to behave like a shrew toward him when he didna deserve it.

Astrid's nostrils flared and pink spots appeared on her sharp cheekbones. The half dozen or so people in the room were conspicuously heading for the exits.

"Is this what you've been up to?" she asked Hic, indignantly pointing at Merida. "Finding a new girlfriend?"

"He didna want to leave Berk, though with a bloody banshee like you wailing at him, I canna understand why he's spent the last five years trying to get back here!"

Astrid's mouth hung open. She sputtered with outrage and took a menacing step toward Merida.

"Astrid, please let me explain!" said Hic, holding his hands up between them. "Merida, maybe you could wait outside."

Merida crossed her arms and stubbornly refused to move. She held Astrid's angry gaze with an equally furious one.

"Please," said Hic softly, putting a hand on her sleeve. She nodded at him supportively before departing, with one last stern glare for the blonde harridan.

She strode out without looking back. Snotlout was waiting for her. They sat together on the edge of the precipice, legs dangling. A few more dragons had arrived and were happily gamboling in the air with Toothless.

"Is she always like that?" asked Merida, still fuming.

"Nah," said Snotlout. "Well, she has been lately because of the rationing, and the sheep are sickly. We're all a little short-tempered these days."

"Rationing? Are ye running low on food here, then?"

"Yeah," replied the squat man, taking off his helmet and languidly scratching his wide ears. "We can't grow much here because there's not much soil. And the sheep can't graze if there's no grass. No sheep means no milk for the bairns, no wool to keep warm, no meat. The handful of dragons that made it out of Berk have been on nothin' but fish rations for years, poor beasties. Everybody's spread pretty thin. Astrid's been trying to figure out what to do, but there's not a lot of options."

"Oh," said Merida. She felt badly for Hic's people, but she still wasn't feeling favorably disposed toward their new Chief.

"You've really got a thing for him, huh?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

A deep blush suffused her cheeks. Snotlout hooted with laughter, and she flushed a deeper shade of scarlet.

"Man, Hic gets all the hot ones!"

She ignored this. "I don't understand what he sees in her."

"Well, if you knew her before, you'd understand. She was different. But then Hic disappeared and Berk was leveled. We lost family, friends, dragons. Astrid was the one who managed to get a few of us out. She's tough and smart and she saved what she could. She's the one who thought of this place. It hasn't been easy keeping everyone alive on this barren rock."

"Is that why you made her Chief?"

"Yeah. She didn't want to be, but after a while it was obvious Hic wasn't coming back, so we all voted. I think, back there just now…she probably blamed Hic for leaving it all in her hands. It was easier to think he was dead than that he abandoned us."

Merida grunted noncommittally. Maybe Astrid wasn't a daft harpie after all, but she didn't have to like her.

000000

Hic explained. And explained again. Astrid paced the floor in front of him, leather creaking.

"Astrid…where's my mum?"

She stopped moving, a look of pity on her face that told him volumes.

"No…" he whispered.

"I'm sorry, Hic. We wouldn't have made it out at all if it weren't for her. She fought like crazy and drew all the metal creatures to her and her dragons so that we could get out."

"So they…they killed her," choked Hic.

"I didn't see it happen," started Astrid, who shook her head sadly at Hic's expression of hope, continuing, "but she would've come here if she'd survived the fight. We sent a scout to Berk not long after, and there was nothing left. No survivors."

Hic bowed his head and said a silent prayer for his mother's soul. He'd not gotten enough time with her. The tragedy gnawed at him. He would mourn her, and everyone else, later. Now they had to focus on the future, and fighting the bastards who did this to them.

"What's the plan then?" she finally asked. "Are you flying off into the sunset to fight Asgard with your new friends, or are you going to stay and help us survive?"

"The plan is to raise an army. We were hoping to find Berk full of dragons ready to fight."

"Well, we did our best without our great chief to guide us!" snapped Astrid, clearly stung.

"I didn't mean-"

"Never mind. What's the story with the redhead? Are you in love with her?"

Hic froze in panic. He couldn't believe she'd just come straight out and asked him that. But then, this Astrid wasn't much like the one he remembered. Thinner, for one thing. Living here wasn't doing any of his people good. And there were dark shadows under her eyes. Leadership took its toll even under normal circumstances, and things in the refuge were definitely not normal. He needed to get them out of here.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, Astrid," he said softly, dodging the question about Merida. They could discuss that later.

Astrid glared at him, but let the evasion slide. She sighed heavily and sat down next to him.

"I know it wasn't your fault. It just…it hasn't been easy. I guess I always hoped you'd show up one day, with a plan to save us. We're starving here, Hic. We won't last another winter."

"Come with us."

"Where? We don't have many supplies, many of our people are crippled from the attack. Gobber for one."

"Gobber's alive?!"

"It'd take more than a few metal monsters to take down Gobber, you know that," smiled Astrid. "He's not the same, though. None of us are," she added softly.

"We can help you guys find a better place, with better resources. Somewhere safe."

"Oh yeah? Where?"

"We're trying Dunbroch next, it's where Merida's from."

Astrid stiffened beside him. Hic rushed on, not wanting to linger on perilous ground.

"She's in the same situation I was in before I found you guys. If her people are still alive, we'll join forces with them and start putting together a fighting force to team up with the Resistance in the EF."

"EF?"

"Enchanted Forest."

"Oh. And how will we get to this Dunbroch?"

Hic grinned mischievously. "You'll have to see it to believe it."


	3. Battle Cry

Killian navigated the ship as close as he dared to the icy berg. Toothless soon appeared, Merida on his back. She was once again flying solo. They landed, Toothless looking happy and relaxed and Merida the opposite.

"What's amiss, lass?" he asked as she slid out of the harness.

"We found Astrid."

"Ah," he said, understanding at once. Killian was wise enough not to prod further.

"Are there dragons?"

"Not many, no. They were decimated by Asgard. Only a handful of survivors, people and dragon."

"That's unfortunate," he said, shaking his head. "Regina was counting on getting some dragons to help even the odds with Asgard."

"Hic wants to evacuate everyone and take them with us."

Killian's eyebrows rose.

"Indeed? And just where does he think we can fit all these extra guests?" he asked, gesturing at the Jolly Roger. They were already packed to the gills as it was.

"That's where Elsa comes in."

000000

A small crowd stood at the edge of the icy landing area. Killian counted them in his spyglass. Six dragons total, several of them looking rather banged up. Three dozen people of varying ages, many of them crippled. A measly crop of dirty sheep and a pile of provisions rounded out the exodus from the dragon refuge. Merida was right. These people were starving. They couldn't in good conscience leave them here. He just hoped they wouldn't be leading them into worse peril on the next leg of their journey.

"Elsa, it's time," he said.

Somewhere behind him, he knew she was doing her usual magical routine once the ocean had begun frothing. She said it was much harder work freezing seawater than fresh, and it must have been for it took her nearly three quarters of an hour to meticulously craft the cargo ship. They'd decided that the best design was a large scow that lay low and heavy in the water. She wouldn't be fast, but she'd be comfortable for the passengers. The top deck was easily accessed by a large ramp, perfectly sized for dragons. Elsa had made the bottom draft quite deep and heavy to provide ballast so that even dragons launching to and from the deck en masse wouldn't upset the ship. An enormous paddlewheel at the back sat gleaming in the sun. Elsa's magic would be its propulsion, for the ship would be too heavy for the Jolly Roger to tow even under full sail.

He trained his spyglass yet again on the shoreline, making out astonished expressions on the faces of the Berkians. Hic was gesturing wildly, evidently trying to convince them that the vessel that had just been conjured from nothing was a perfectly safe mode of transportation. Killian surmised that the Berkians hadn't seen magic before, so he couldn't blame them for being nervous. It still made HIM bloody nervous for that matter. He was grateful to have solid wood planks beneath his boots. In the distance, Hic hopped aboard Toothless and kicked off. A short flight later, they alighted on the top deck of the ice ship. Hic was waving at the Berkians, urging them to follow. One at a time, the dragons made their way over and landed, dropping people and supplies until all were safely aboard.

"So, your Majesty, what will you christen her?" asked Killian.

"Pardon?"

"You've just crafted an unusual but nonetheless proper ship. She needs a proper name."

"Oh, I see…Saefara, is there a word in elvish to describe a search for home?"

The brunette elf stood gracefully at ease, hardly moving with the rolling of the deck. Both elves had adapted quickly to the motion of the ship. Killian thought he detected something mournful in her honey-hued eyes when she gazed out to sea. There wasn't much that could physically challenge his daughter's elvish bodyguards, but fighting ability was no guard against homesickness, it seemed. There was a haunted quality to her response to Elsa's query.

"Velancor. Though it means something more like 'search for the heart's place'."

"The Velancor it is then, since that is what we all seek," replied Elsa with satisfaction, tracing the letters in the air. They appeared simultaneously etched into the bluish sides of the ship's prow, in elegant script that sparkled in the sun.

He made his way back to the upper deck, where a lone figure watched the activity aboard the Velancor with a sad expression, her fiery curls tossing in the chill breeze.

"You all right, lass?" asked Killian softly.

"Aye," she said.

He raised an eyebrow and pulled his flask from his pocket, offering it to her. She looked up at him with mournful eyes and chuckled.

"That obvious, am I?" she said, taking a large swig and passing it back to him.

"Aye."

"Is it time then?" she asked, taking another swig.

"If you're ready."

"Canna be worse than Berk, aye?" she asked, worry creasing her brow.

He patted her shoulder awkwardly. Between worry about what they would find in Dunbroch, and the situation with Hic and this Astrid, he knew Merida was a bundle of nerves at the moment, He sighed, missing his wife. Emma was much better at this sort of thing. A tug on his hook distracted him.

"Hello moppet," he said, scooping up his daughter and kissing her raven head. "You understand we need to bring the other ship through with us, yes?"

"Uh huh."

"Off we go then. Remember to keep us well away from shore, love. Ring the bell, Arthur."

The ship's bell began clanging, alerting the other ship to batten the hatches and prepare to move. He touched the hilt of his cutlass, hoping he wouldn't need it. Thus far, Moriah had successfully brought them through portals without putting them in danger, but perhaps they'd just been lucky.

"Elsa, best start that wheel turning."

"Aye aye, captain!" said the blonde, sliding her hand through the air as though she were spinning a roulette wheel. The enormous paddles began to slowly turn, churning up a wake as the Velancor gained momentum.

He barked orders at his hodgepodge crew until the Jolly Roger's sails snapped and they were well underway.

"Go ahead, moppet!" he called to Moriah, who was now comfortably perched on Daínn's back. The elf carried her about as if she weighed nothing. Killian had come to be deeply grateful for the elves' care for his daughter. Especially with Emma off in Asgard, he needed help keeping her safe.

A familiar swirl of brilliant purple light spun into the air just off the bow. He steered the Jolly Roger straight for it. He checked behind to see the Velancor not far behind them, an almost comical tableau of terrified people and dragons clinging to the icy rails.

A blinding flash, and they were through. Killian hardly flinched this time. It was almost becoming old hat, this portal business.

00000

Merida was hopping up and down in the saddle, prompting Toothless to crane his head around and glare at her in annoyance. She stuck her tongue out at him, a gesture he copied, accompanied by a raspberry that coated her in droplets of sticky dragon spit.

"Blech! Come on, Hic!" she said, wiping her face on her sleeve. She was more eager than she'd ever been in her life to get airborne. Finally he climbed up in front of her and they were ready to go.

"Good luck, lass," said Killian. He was echoed by the others, and her companions' good wishes buoyed her strained nerves as they launched upward and into the clouds.

Dunbroch lay not far up the coast to the north. They had sailed in on the evening tide, anchoring several leagues away. So far, all was quiet. Would her family be waiting peacefully for her in Dunbroch, untouched by the Asgard scourge?

Hic could sense her disquiet and patted her arm where it cinched snugly around his waist. They dipped low and quiet toward the trees, gliding silently. The forest was still, and thankfully intact. She breathed easier seeing no signs of battle or scorched earth. Maybe Dunbroch had been spared, and she'd be with her family soon.

Long minutes passed, and suddenly the castle came into view, its dark outline backlit by the setting sun. Merida's heart sank. There should be torches lit along the perimeter, and hearth fires glowing within. All was dark, and silent.

They landed on the top turret nearest her old room. She knew the way to clamber down to her window so well she could have managed it blindfolded. They bade Toothless wait for them, and shimmied down the stone gutter. The window stood open, thankfully, and they dropped into the dusty confines of her childhood bedroom. In the dying light, she could make out the four-poster bed, intact but coated in thick layers of dust. They tiptoed to the door and Merida opened it slowly, dismayed as the disused hinges groaned loudly.

Motes of dust danced in the waning twilight. The entire corridor looked long-abandoned, their boots leaving prints in their wake. A creeping sense of horror stole over her as she listened hard for signs of life that did not come. Hic nudged her and made a gesture as if to ask where everyone had gone. She shook her head with a small shrug, trying not to cry. She tilted her head to indicate that they should push forward into the castle, and Hic nodded. They'd not gone more than a few paces when a crash below echoed loudly through the stone walls, making them both jump in alarm. Someone had just thrown open the wooden doors to the great hall below them. They froze in place, eyes wide. She held a finger to her lips. Hic nodded again and followed as she crept mouse-like down the dark stairs. She stepped carefully around the massive stuffed bear that stood at attention on the landing. Good thing she'd had lots of practice creeping around this place as a child.

Green light flickered wanly from the great hall. Someone was here! She was about to head for the doors to take a peek, when Hic pulled her back sharply. As they ducked behind the enormous stuffed bear, she saw why. A Sentinel was stomping past them, heading into the heart of the castle.

She forgot to breathe. 'Nonononono' she mouthed soundlessly. Hic squeezed her arm. She stepped out from their hiding place to follow it, but Hic tugged her back in the direction they had come from, clearly intending to climb back to Toothless and retreat to the Jolly Roger. She shook him off angrily, and Hic relented with a sigh. She had to know what had happened to her family, no matter the risk. Sneaking down to the landing, she sidled cautiously up to the doors, keeping a sharp lookout for more Sentinels, and peered into the great hall.

Most of the room remained in shadow, save a small area by the massive fireplace. Unnatural green flames danced in the hearth. Two Sentinels flanked it, the firelight lending their armor a sickly hue. A single chair was pulled up before the grate. A portly man sat upon it, leisurely drinking from one of her mother's special goblets. He was wearing the signature black uniform of Asgard, with a blood red cloak swept out behind him. One leg was flung carelessly over the chair. Her father's chair. Rage surged through Merida and she clenched her fists hard enough to crack her knuckles. There was a small squeak from somewhere on the opposite side of the door, and Merida froze with terror. Emerging from the dark corridor that led to the kitchens, a red-haired boy bearing a tray of food stood gaping at her. Raising a shaking finger to her lips, she begged the child wordlessly for silence. With a jerky nod, and a stunned ghost of a smile, the boy, who was surely one of her little brothers, continued on his way into the hall.

It took all of Merida's self control to wait for the boy to come back. Was it Hamish? She thought it might be Hamish. She peeked around the corner again, desperate for a glimpse of him. He approached the figure in the chair, bowing obsequiously and placing the tray on a small side table. The man finished his goblet of wine and gestured rudely for the lad to refill it. Hamish poured smoothly from an ornate ewer, which Merida recognized with a sick lurch was another piece of her mother's silver wedding set.

The man took a bite of the food, then, without even looking up, casually backhanded Hamish. The lad took the blow without uttering a sound, in a way that made her realize this was not the first time. Her fury rose to a fever pitch and felt Hic tense beside her, placing a restraining hand on her arm.

"Instruct the cook not to be so stingy with the salt, boy," said the man, in a nasally voice, "or I'll chop your pretty little fingers off next time."

Hamish bowed low, never uttering a sound, and backed from the room. Once he was through the door, Merida could see the handprint on his cheek, vivid against his pale skin. Her fingers twitched to put an arrow through the Asgardian's head. Only the thought of what the Sentinels might do to Hamish and Hic if she did so stayed her hand. Her proud little brother strode back toward the kitchen, his head held high. Merida watched him go with fierce pride. He paused and turned briefly back to her, indicating with a series of quick gestures that she should go upstairs and back down to the servant's quarters by another passage, before melting again into the shadows. Merida took a deep, calming breath and led Hic back up through the dusty stairs.

It took some time to navigate the long way around, but they descended at last into the kitchens. In her memories, it was a cheerful place, always full of bustle and the scents of drying herbs and freshly baked bread. Tonight, only a tiny fire struggled in the hearth, and did little to dispel the moldy gloom that had taken hold of the place. She stepped cautiously into the center of the room, Hic close behind.

"Hallo? Hamish, are you there lad?"

"Merida?" came a whisper.

"Maudie?"

"It is her!"

"Told you so!"

A trio of red heads shot out from under the table and suddenly she was surrounded. The press of small bodies, grown in size but still familiar, loosened her tears and she let them fall freely.

"Stand back ya wee devils and let me have a look at ye!" she said, laughing through her tears. Three identical smiling faces, so dear and yet much changed in five years. She gathered the boys into a tight hug again.

"Where've you been?" mumbled Hamish against her shoulder, the handprint on his cheek fading but still visible.

"It's a long story, love, but I promise I'll tell you all about my adventures soon enough, once we've gotten you safely away from here. I've missed you all so much!"

"Who's this?" asked Maudie, after she'd gotten a tearful hug of her own. She was eyeing Hic suspiciously. The years hadn't been kind to the poor woman. She was thin and sallow, the dress that once hugged her plump figure hanging loose and filthy around her.

"May I introduce Hiccup Haddock III, Dragonrider."

At this last, the three boys suddenly forgot she existed. All of them surrounded Hic, firing off rapid questions. Hic was startled and then grinned, sitting down and answering them with aplomb, even allowing Hamish to perch against his knee. Her heart ached. How many times had she imagined Hic, with an arm around a red-headed son of their own? She banished the thought, and turned to the housekeeper to ask a question, only to find that Maudie was giving her a too-knowing smile, her eyes flicking between Merida and Hic.

"Ah."

"Don't 'ah' me, Maudie. Tell me what happened. Where are mum and da?"

Maudie's smile slid off, replaced by weary sadness. She pulled her aside and they sat down in front of the tiny fire.

"Ah, lassie. Yer puir father Fergus, rest his soul, died in the battle, I'm sorry to say. He didna go easy, I can tell ye that much. Even took down one of those horrid metal creatures before it was over."

Maudie had to pause at this point to let Merida absorb the impact of this news. She shuddered and let her head fall into her hands. Though she'd tried to prepare herself for it, the shock of grief was so intense it paralyzed her. Hic was watching her with concern, but he kept spinning his stories about dragons to keep her brothers occupied. Her father, the mighty King Fergus, was gone. Maudie was speaking again and Merida tried to focus, though the earth had disappeared from beneath her feet.

"…but there were a dozen of 'em. We weren't no match for 'em. When 'twas over, those who survived the fighting were put out into the forest with neither food nor a drop o' water. He goes out most days to hunt 'em that still live. Considers it sport to kill us 'dirty humans' as he calls us."

"Mum?" asked Merida, afraid to hear the answer. Maudie hesitated.

"Come with me, miss. Hiccup Haddock, can I trust ye with my wee laddies?"

Hic nodded, continuing his tale of adventures for the boys, who were sitting around him in rapt attention. Maudie led Merida down the narrow steps to the storeroom beneath the kitchen. The air was even cooler down here, and moldier. A glimmer of torchlight beckoned them forward, and finally she caught a faint scent of lavender that reminded Merida so forcefully of her mother that her knees nearly buckled.

"We must keep her hidden here, you see. He won't permit none in the castle except me, to cook and clean, and the laddies, to serve 'im. First day, he says 'A matched set of three, how marvelous' and since then the puir wee things have waited on him hand and foot, with a beating added in on the regular."

Merida ground her teeth. The man would not sit much longer in her father's chair, she promised herself. Maudie drug aside a stack of crates, revealing a cozy nook carved into the stone wall of the storeroom. A tiny figure lay curled under a bedspread, her long dark hair streaked with gray where it spilled over the pillow.

"Mum," breathed Merida. She dove for the bed, kneeling beside it and digging for her mother's hand. "Mum, it's me, Merida."

Her mother's beloved face was gaunt and pale. Beneath the lavender scent, she detected a whiff of sickness. She stroked her thin face, softly calling to her. Finally, her eyes opened a crack, and they were still the rich, soft brown that Merida remembered.

"Mum, I've come back," sobbed Merida.

"Merida? My darling girl," she whispered, gripping her hand feebly.

"Aye, mum, it's me. I'm here," she whispered, over and over.

"I knew…you were alive…"

"Shh, don't talk. Save your strength."

"Just needed…to hold on…long enough…"

Her mother fell into sleep again, mumbling incoherently. Merida listened to her labored breathing, not knowing what to do. Maudie leaned past her, tucking the blanket tighter around her mother's frail body with practiced care.

"What's ailing her?"

"Wasting disease o' some sort, I 'spect. The healer's long dead, so I've done me best to keep 'er in comfort. Broken-hearted after your father died, if you ask me."

Merida kissed her mother's clammy cheek.

"I've got to get all of you out of here," she said angrily, dashing away her tears.

"Out of here? And go where, lass? The whole of the country's overrun. All of the clans were destroyed."

"We'll go to join our friends, to fight Asgard."

"Fight them? Dearie me, what an idea," gasped Maudie, fanning herself. "Have ye taken leave o' your senses, girlie?"

"We'll fight them, and we'll make them pay, Maudie," swore Merida, fists clenched. She ignored the panic on the other woman's face as she strode back upstairs, to Hic.

0000

They winged their way back to the Jolly Roger, Merida with a heavy heart. Hic, wisely, had put her in front of him on the saddle. She was numb with shock and fatigue, and didn't protest as he held her securely against him. His warmth was comforting, along with the scent of oiled leather and the creak of his riding gear. She wanted to sink into his embrace and forget everything, but the horrors she'd found in Dunbroch were too fresh, too painful, to put out of her mind.

She'd hated to leave her people behind, even briefly, but Hic was right. Toothless couldn't carry them all to safety by himself, and it was too risky taking on two Sentinels and a magic-wielder with just one dragon and a few arrows. They needed reinforcements and time to plan. She wouldn't risk her family's lives more than necessary.

But she kept seeing her mum's face, how badly her beauty had been wasted. A sick guilt twisted her guts. She should've been there to protect her family. Rage surged hotly through her veins as she recalled all these years spent uselessly wandering, trying to get back here. All the while, her people had suffered and she had done nothing to prevent it. But now, she could at least try to avenge it, and save what was left of her clan. She wanted to scream, to cry, to stab something, but all she could do was fly away from her family and try to come up with a way to save them. What if she failed? Her stomach roiled, and when they finally landed on the deck of the ship, she stumbled for the railing, retching.

When there was nothing left for her to sick up, she realized Hic was holding her hair away from her face and rubbing her back in soothing circles. With effort, she forced herself to breathe more easily, and found a measure of calm returning. But when she straightened and faced him, the sympathy in his eyes broke her resolve. She walked into his open arms and sobbed her heart out for several minutes. When she had no tears left, she pulled away. Killian and the others watched them in silence, but she hadn't the strength just now to tell them what she had found in Dunbroch. She let Hic guide her belowdecks and didn't protest when he put her to bed with Moriah, the little girl's warmth chasing the chill out of her bones. She fell into an uneasy sleep, her dreams filled with the screeching of metal monsters and the roaring of bears.

00000

"Bloody hell," said Killian. He took another pull from the flask and passed it to Hic.

"It was pretty awful," agreed Hic, "but at least some of her family is still alive."

"Poor Merida," chimed in Elsa.

"We have to help her rescue her people," said Arthur.

"Aye, mate, we will," promised Killian. "For now, everyone who's not on watch should get some rest. We'll make a plan at first light."

00000

The deck was a tight fit with two dragons aboard. Stormfly and Toothless playfully jostled one another, forcing the humans to give them a wide berth.

"Hey buddy, calm down, ok? We have to figure out how to help Merida today."

Toothless looked abashed at Hic's remonstration and settled down, nudging Stormfly with his wing as if instructing her to follow suit. The other dragon obeyed. It seemed Toothless was held in a special esteem by the other dragons, which surprised Merida a little. He'd always seemed like an overgrown puppy to her. Since they'd found the survivors of Berk, however, it had become clear that he had been as much the chief of the dragons as Hic had been the chief of his people.

"Are ye sure about this?" she muttered into Hic's ear. Merida's stomach was still unsettled and her nerves were jumping like kelpies in boiling water.

"Not sure which aspect of this crazy plan you're referring to, exactly."

Merida quirked a brow in irritation. Hic rolled his eyes and she resisted the urge to punch him, no matter that he'd been so sweet to her last night.

"We need more air support, and she's good. Trust me," he replied.

The subject of their conversation was leaning casually against the mast, casting dark looks their way. Hic had asked Astrid to help them today, and to Merida's surprise, she'd agreed. He was right, they could use all the help they could get. Didn't mean she had to like it, though.

Killian gathered them around the diagram Merida had made of the castle.

"Right then, mates. We won't have Emma or Regina to back us up on this, so we'll mostly be relying on Elsa for fire- er, icepower today. Our new friends," he continued, nodding at Astrid, "will provide support from the air. We know what Toothless can do in battle. Chief Astrid, what special skills can we expect from Stormfly and the others?"

"Stormfly has fire, though not as powerful as Toothless of course. Over open water she can form waterspouts. She has spineshot, but it's only accurate within a certain range."

At this, her dragon gave her great spiked tail a proud wag, which scraped against the deck of the ship, leaving a long splintered gouge.

"Save it for the battle, eh?" asked Killian, exasperatedly.

"Er, sorry," said Astrid, making a quick series of hand signals to her dragon. The beautiful beast lowered her aquamarine head, chastised.

"And she's fast. Always won in a race," added Hic.

Astrid beamed at him.

"Will any of your other riders fly with us today?" Merida asked, trying to keep her voice level despite the twinge of jealousy. There was too much at stake today.

"Yeah, Snotlout and Tuff will join," she replied, "but Belch is a bit squirrely since Berk. It's probably not a good idea to bring him directly into battle. He'll be scout and transport only. Snot's dragon is called Fireworm. It's a Monstrous Nightmare."

"If you mean the enormous red one, I don't disagree," responded Killian. Even at a distance, the hulking ruby dragon was very visible from its perch atop the Velancor, lethal spines bristling in the sunlight.

"She means that's its species, the Monstrous Nightmare," responded Hic, wryly.

"Sounds promising. What can it do?"

"Fire. Lots and lots of fire. Also brutal in close combat."

"Good, we can definitely use that. So, here's the plan…"

They spent the morning working out details and contingencies. By the time they were winging their way to Dunbroch, Merida began to feel a cautious hope that this would work.

000000

"Psst! Maudie!" whispered Merida. She stuck her head into the kitchen.

"Lord, you gave me a fright!" said Maudie, who had dropped a basket of freshly baked rolls to the floor. She stooped to pick them back up.

"Where are the boys? We need to go, now!"

"Go?"

"Yes, go! As in, we're getting the hell out of here. Where are they?"

"Downstairs, with your mum," replied Maudie, hesitantly. She shifted back and forth, as though she wanted to say more but didn't dare.

"What aren't you telling me, Maudie? Out with it!"

"Except Hamish. Lord Ivan took him hunting today, as his valet."

"No!" exclaimed Merida, feeling all the blood drain from her face. They'd planned for this possibility, but she'd been clinging to the hope that it wouldn't be necessary. If the Asgardian hadn't taken any of the boys today, they could've snuck them away and been long gone before he returned. Now, they would have to fight, with Hamish in the thick of it.

"He often takes one of the boys, to serve him as he rides," whispered Maudie.

Merida took the stairs down to the cellar two at a time.

"Harris! Hubert!"

The two boys were sitting with their mother. They jumped up and ran to her. She held them tightly but only for a moment.

"You boys listen to me carefully," she said, taking a knee so they she could look them in the eyes. "We are getting you out of here today. I need you to promise to do exactly as I say, understand?"

They nodded calmly in unison, eyes fearful.

"First thing, I need you to go upstairs and help Maudie pack up as much food as you can carry easily. Can you do that? Good, off with you then."

She entered the nook where her mother lay sleeping.

"Mum, wake up," she said, gently shaking her bony shoulder.

"Mmm, what is it?" came a groggy whisper.

"I'm taking you, Maudie and the boys to safety. I'm sorry to have to move you, but I've no choice."

Eleanor nodded feebly. Merida swept the collection of small vials containing herbs and tinctures that littered the bedside table into her satchel. There was a large trunk at the foot of the bed. She opened it, and gasped. Her mother had saved some family mementos. There was a small cameo portrait of her father, looking stern and formal as he rarely did in life. Merida slipped it into the bag along with a small bundle of her mother's clothes. Her father's plaid tartan she gathered to her face and breathed deeply of his woodsy scent. Her mother's gold crown with the massive emerald at its peak went into the bag. She spied a small tin pot at the bottom of the trunk and lifted it with trembling fingers. Her father's war paint. She'd been caught playing with it as a child, painting her face with huge gobs of it. When her father had caught her, she'd expected to be punished, but he'd just roared with laughter and spent the afternoon playing Chiefs and Bears with her. Opening it, the thick blue paste smelled strongly of herbs. With a trembling finger, she dabbed two curving swipes of it under her right eye, and a vertical slash between her brows down to the tip of her nose. It was her father's war markings, and she hoped she'd make him proud today. She tucked the pot carefully away in the satchel, feeling stronger.

She unfolded her father's tartan and wrapped it around her mother like a blanket. She stooped and lifted her as carefully as she could, but her mother moaned in pain. Merida steeled herself, adjusting her grip so as to hurt the frail body as little as possible.

"Sorry, mum. I'll be gentle as I can," she said. She made her way gingerly up the stairs, disturbed by how feather-light her mother lay in her arms.

"Lassie, this isna-" started Maudie when she spied them, wringing her hands.

"Have you packed what you can? Good, follow me," barked Merida, cutting her off. The woman jumped, but obeyed. She and the boys hoisted small burlap sacks over their shoulders and followed on her heels. Merida kicked her way out the door and into the sunshine. She heard twin intakes of breath behind her, a strangled scream from Maudie, and then the boys darted past, heading right for the huge yellow dragon that awaited them. Tuff was standing next to Belch. He looked askance at her face and its new war paint, but reached for the sacks without asking questions.

"Any sign?" asked Merida, looking up at the skies.

"Nothing yet," replied the blonde man, terse as seemed to be his way. He busied himself tying the burlap sacks of supplies to various straps on the dragon's tack. Belch was huge, easily double Toothless' size, and bristling with spikes. It was difficult to imagine a two-headed dragon, but the scarred stump where one head should be made Merida feel sad. The two boys were staring at it in fascination, whispering to each other. The remaining dragon head followed their movements, watching them curiously.

"Will this be safe?" she asked, eyeing the enormous basket at their feet. It had been Killian's idea. Apparently he'd traveled in a similar fashion once, with Emma. No wonder he hated flying, thought Merida.

"Yeah, it's safe. Isn't there supposed to be one more though?"

"Change of plans. This is everyone you'll be taking."

"Right then, you," he said, pointing at Maudie, who was still gaping at the dragon with her hand to her mouth. She jumped. "You'll ride in the basket with the sick lady. Boys, you're with me in the saddle."

He offered a leg up to Harris, whose face lit up in stunned disbelief. The boy exchanged a high five with Hubert, who was similarly delighted, before clambering into the seat. Once he was settled, Tuff launched up behind him and offered a hand down to Hubert, pulling him up to sit snugly behind.

Merida knelt and tucked her unconscious mother into the basket as gently as she could. The woven sides of the basket wouldn't offer much protection from the wind, but the wool tartan would help. She wished she'd brought a heavier blanket as well, but there was no time to go back for one. She kissed her mother's cheek.

"I'll see you soon, Mum. Maudie, get in. You should lie down next to her to keep her warm."

The woman shook her head violently, eyes wide.

"All right, if you'd rather stay and help me deal with Lord Ivan when he returns…"

Maudie blanched, hesitating. She looked back at the castle, then up at the fearsome dragon looming above her, then at the makeshift basket tethered to the beasts midsection with ropes. Merida huffed impatiently, grabbing the trembling woman by the arm and marching her into the basket. She settled her snugly in beside her mum, and then lifted the satchel over her head.

"Keep this safe, Maudie. I'll see you aboard the Jolly Roger. Boys, you be good and do as Tuff tells you, you hear? I'll be there soon, with your brother."

She stepped away, exchanging a look of wordless understanding with Tuff. He nodded sharply, patting Belch to signal readiness to depart.

"I'll get them there safe, Merida. Good luck."

The dragon stretched its great leathery wings, and Merida was struck by how delicate the golden membranes appeared as the sun shone through them. They lifted off with a whoosh, the boys whooping happily. Maudie's hysterical sobbing was the last thing she heard as the dragon winged away from Dunbroch and toward the coast.

Merida pulled her bow from her shoulder and nocked an arrow, making her way into the woods to the west of the castle. The rendezvous point wasn't far. It was a clearing just wide enough for a dragon to land in comfortably. Merida had chosen it for its high ground, for they'd have an excellent view of the castle and surrounding countryside from the summit. As she drew near, she whistled a birdcall and waited to hear the responding hoot before striding into the clearing.

"Hic not back yet?" she asked Killian, who stood with Elsa and Arthur. Astrid and Snotlout were a little ways off, keeping their dragons calm and quiet.

He started at seeing her war paint, then shook his head in the negative.

"Must still be scouting. Did it go well?"

"Aye, mostly. Mum, Maudie, and two of the boys are off to the Jolly Roger."

"Only two?"

"Aye, 'tis as we feared. Lord Ivan," she said, spitting the name with venom, "needed a valet for his hunt today. He took Hamish with him."

"So it's to be a fight, then," said Arthur, hand on Excalibur.

"Aye," nodded Merida. Much as she disliked the risk a battle would bring, she was looking forward to gutting Lord Ivan and leaving him for the vultures.

A dark shadow passed over the clearing, in the form of Toothless. He landed lightly, Hic jumping to the ground and jogging over to them. He goggled at Merida's face.

"Well?" she asked impatiently, not feeling like explaining just now about her father's war paint.

"We spotted them. Headed this way, should be at the castle within half an hour. One of the boys is with him. We're fighting, right?"

Merida nodded grimly. Everyone gathered around, including the dragons.

"All right, you all know the plan," said Killian.

"Save the lad, don't die," said Snotlout, grinning.

"That's it, more or less."

"I still can't believe we're going to fight Sentinels, it's insane," said Astrid.

"You're welcome to go back to the ship," said Merida softly, trading her glare for glare.

"We've fought them before, far more of them in fact, and won," said Killian, appealing for peace. "We can do it again."

"But be careful, everyone," said Elsa. "We've all seen what they're capable of, and we don't have Emma or the General to help today."

Everyone murmured their agreement. They dispersed toward their positions, and waited.

000000

Merida heard them before she saw them, and wondered why the Asgardian would bother taking the Sentinels hunting with him. They were not stealthy creatures. A cacophony of breaking branches and clanging metal disturbed the peace of the forest well in advance of their return to castle grounds. The two Sentinels finally emerged from the trees, followed by a man on a horse. For a moment, she didn't breathe. Her brother was perched in the saddle in front of him, pressed up against his chest in a way that made her feel physically ill. She wanted to cut the bastard's hands off.

Her own hands were sweaty around the polished wood of her bow, and she wiped them on her cloak. She prayed her aim would be true today. A birdcall trilled off to her right. It was time. A burst of purple dragonfire exploded around one of the Sentinels, followed immediately by a cloud of ice enveloping the second. Ivan's horse reared and whinnied, but the Asgardian kept his seat, cloak billowing behind him.

Fireworm swooped toward the Sentinel that had taken the direct hit of Toothless' dragon fire, launching a second stream of molten flames. One of the Sentinel's arms dissolved into a puddle of bubbling metal in the dirt. Still, it remained standing. It was screeching that horrible metallic sound that Merida heard so often in her nightmares.

"Dragons!" shouted the Asgardian, sounding more surprised than afraid. "Capture them!"

He barked the order at the two Sentinels. The one who was fighting off Elsa's stream of ice had been forced to its knees. It was struggling to crack off the frozen carapace that continued to form thickly around its head and joints, lest it be immobilized completely. The Asgardian, seeing this, wheeled his mount around, searching for the source of magic. He swiveled his head like a bloodhound catching a scent, and then fixed his gaze on a particular spot in the trees. Though Elsa wasn't visible, he summoned a green fireball and flung it directly toward where Merida knew she was hidden. A huge swath of trees exploded with a deafening impact, sending huge billowing clouds of black smoke and splinters into the air. The stream of ice that had been harrying the Sentinel ceased, leaving it to shake off the remnants and join the battle against the dragons.

Toothless and Fireworm were taking turns dive-bombing the damaged Sentinel, raking it repeatedly with bursts of dragonfire. The Asgardian summoned another ball of crackling green flame and flung it at Toothless. The dragon dove in a blur, so that the flame just missed Hic by a hair's breadth. Merida growled with fury. She stood and loosed her arrow in a fluid motion, taking aim squarely at the Asgardian's head. The Sentinel moved so quickly that Merida's fingers had barely released the fletching when the creature flung itself directly in the arrow's flight. She hadn't used one of the special Yggdrasil arrows the General had given her, so it merely bounced off its armor with an impotent pinging sound. With rising terror, she realized the Sentinel had shifted course and was heading straight for her in huge bounding strides. She reached blindly back for one of her special arrows but didn't even have the chance to pull one from her quiver before it was upon her. Its jagged metal teeth and black eyes filled her vision. She turned to run, and then she was flying through the air.

She landed with a force that knocked the wind from her lungs. She lay still for a moment, stunned. She could taste the coppery tang of blood and wondered if she'd bitten through her tongue. The ground shook with the Sentinel's footsteps. It must be coming to finish the job. With a strength borne of panic, she forced herself to her knees and struggled to stand, using her bow, which she'd somehow maintained a grip on, for support. She thought that the Sentinel must have raked its metal claws down her back, if the pain and the wet warmth of blood were any indication. She turned to face it, summoning all her courage. The Sentinel was crouched on all fours, sending up sprays of dirt with each bound. She screamed in rage and reached back for an arrow, only to find her quiver was gone.

"Get down!" yelled a woman's voice behind her. Merida obeyed without thought, hitting the ground so hard she tasted dirt. She heard a sharp whistling above her, then a series of bangs and screeches rent the air. She looked up to see the Sentinel stumbling backward, a dozen massive spikes driven into its torso. A huge dragon passed close above her head, scales sparkling in shades of aquamarine. As she watched in astonishment, Stormfly tackled the damaged Sentinel, clutching its head tightly in her massive talons. Merida watched, stunned, as the two went tumbling down in a whirl of metal and flapping wings. The dragon righted herself, maintaining her grip on the Sentinel's head. With great beats of her wings, she rose rapidly into the air, twisting violently as she went. With a metallic ripping sound, the Sentinel's body fell heavily to earth. It was bereft of its head, which dangled from Stormfly's claws like a ghoulish trophy.

"One down!" shouted Astrid, triumphantly, then she was hurtling upward as Stormfly dodged another green fireball. The Asgardian was still dangerous, even with one less Sentinel.

Merida forced herself to her feet again, and began looking for her quiver. She found it not far from where she'd landed, which was a good ways from where the Sentinel had struck her. She must've flown thirty feet. As she secured the quiver over her stinging back, she surveyed the scene. The battle with the remaining Sentinel still raged. Toothless hovered in midair, shooting balls of fire at it in staccato bursts as he dodged incoming shots from the Asgardian. Fireworm wove around the Asgardian too, in an attempt to draw his fire from Toothless. The man was still clutching Hamish in front of him like a human shield, so the dragon couldn't fire back.

Merida limped toward them, growing dizzier with each step. She was vaguely aware of blood dripping from her cloak, but she couldn't worry about herself just now. As she approached, the remaining Sentinel took a direct hit to the torso and went down to its knees. Fireworm and Toothless, seeing an opening, swooped in together for the killing blow, launching volley after volley of flame until the creature was melting in earnest. The Asgardian saw their shift in tactics and lifted a hand, summoning more crackling green magic. He was going to attack Toothless, whose back was turned to him. Merida, ignoring the pain and the reluctance of her arms to obey her, nocked an arrow and let it fly. It took the Asgardian's hand directly through his upraised palm. He screamed and his horse reared, unseating both him and Hamish. They went down in a tangle of limbs. Merida moved closer in a daze, pulling another arrow from her quiver as she went.

"Get back!" yelled the man as he staggered to his feet. He unsheathed his sword with his good hand, pulling Hamish tightly to him with the injured one, arrow still protruding through it.

"I can still slit the boy's throat!" he gasped, putting the sword against her brother's neck hard enough to draw blood. Hamish's eyes were wide with terror, but he swallowed hard as he looked at Merida, raising his chin proudly. His resemblance to their father was strong. Merida kept the arrow nocked as she approached.

"Release my brother," she said. Her voice sounded hollow in her own ears, as though she were hearing herself from a great distance.

"Brother?" wheezed the man, laughing wildly. "I should've guessed, with that ridiculous hair."

"Aye, we take after our father, King Fergus."

"Ah, yes the dead king of the savages. You recognize this, then?" he asked, lifting the sword blade slightly, so that Hamish whimpered.

She had recognized her father's blade at once. It was so immense that she had trouble believing this pale, rabbity man could even lift it.

"You're not fit to touch my father's sword," growled Merida, maintaining her bead on his forehead and pushing the pain down. It would overwhelm her soon enough, but she would keep it at bay until Hamish was safe.

The Asgardian's eyes were flickering at her friends, who were gathering around her. He licked his lips nervously.

"You're going to let me go," he said, trying to sound confident.

"And why would we do that?"

"Otherwise, I'll open the boy's veins and he can join your father in Hel," he snarled.

"There's nowhere you can go we won't give chase," said Merida.

"There's a stone portal not far from here. Give me safe passage there, and I'll let the boy live."

He was backing away from them, dragging Hamish along.

"No! He'll take me with him to Asgard! He always says he wants to take me there," cried Hamish, struggling.

"Be still!" snapped Lord Ivan. The sword cut deeper into her brother's neck, the blood flowing in earnest.

Hamish grabbed the arrow that protruded through the man's hand, and yanked it through to the fletching as he dodged away. The Asgardian howled in pain, his head snapping back. Merida released the arrow.

Before it had buried itself through his neck, she'd nocked and let fly another. Her hands moved in a rhythm acquired through long practice, firing again and again. Before the Asgardian's body had fallen to the earth, a cluster of five arrows bloomed from his chest, as though a strange plant had sprouted there.

Silence reigned save for the beating of dragon wings. She stalked to where the bastard lay dying. His tongue protruded grotesquely as he choked violently on the blood welling up in his mouth. His body twitched once, twice, then relaxed, his beady eyes staring sightlessly into the sky. She bent slowly, picking up her father's sword. It was even heavier than she remembered, and as tall as her chest. She hefted it with the last of her strength, raising it high. She tilted her head back and loosed an ululation, and heard Hamish join her. An ancient battle cry of her people, it was one yelled in victories when the price paid was steep. She brought the sword down in a steady arc, burying it deeply in the Asgardian's neck. She hadn't the strength to cleave all the way through, so she pressed down on the blade with her foot until the head came away from the body. Breathing heavily, she grabbed a handful of hair and hefted it as she made her way across the bridge to the castle gates. She wasn't sure if the blood pattering on the wooden boards was her own, or the Asgardian's. It didn't matter. There were a series of thick wooden pikes surrounding the castle in a ring, which during her lifetime had remained empty except in times of war. Her father had not been the type of ruler to put his enemies heads on pikes, except in the most dire circumstances. She hoped he would understand her need to do so now. She selected the most prominent pike, nearest the drawbridge, and set the head upon it. With a sickening crunch, she drove it downward onto the spike. The Asgardian's head would remain here, to be picked clean by vultures, and would serve as a warning to any of his ilk who dared follow: Dunbroch would collect its debts from Asgard.

She was disgusted by what she'd done, but fierce pride and a morbid satisfaction won out. She turned and limped back across the bridge, leaning heavily on her father's sword. Each step was slower than the last. She was aware now of the others watching her silently. She avoided Hic's eyes. They were probably all horrified by what she'd just done, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. She searched instead for Hamish. Her brother would understand. He was walking toward her, bleeding but safe.

The world tilted on its axis. She suspected her injuries were serious, possibly even fatal. Hamish's worried face swam before her, framed against the bright blue sky. When had she fallen over? Then she heard Hic calling her name. She tried to reassure him, to tell him she understood about him and Astrid, and that she wanted him to be happy. But the blackness rolled over her, and she could fight it no longer.

00000

Astrid busied herself with dressing the light gashes on Stormfly's belly. They weren't too bad, thankfully. Astrid chastised the dragon, who was moving too much for her to stitch her up. The dragon was still high on the excitement of the battle, as was Astrid. Ripping that Sentinel's head off was the most satisfying thing she'd done in five years. She'd waited that long for an opportunity to avenge Berk, and she'd gotten a taste of it. She wanted more.

The others were also still keyed up from the battle. Snotlout she'd sent back to the Velancor, and she'd heard cheering from her people as he landed. They had needed a victory today, and they'd gotten one. No doubt Snotlout would be bragging his way into some girl's blankets tonight. Astrid snorted. And why not? Just because she wasn't getting any these days, didn't mean they all had to suffer. She was more interested at the moment in getting to know her new allies aboard the Jolly Roger. They'd fought well today, and she was eager to make a habit out of killing Asgardians.

The ice queen was resting on a wooden crate nearby, her shapely leg bared to the thigh and wrapped neatly in bandages. Elsa had been one of the big surprises of the day for Astrid. Magic! It was still hard to believe. Arthur, who was apparently a king in his own lands, was tending gently to the other burns on the woman's arm and shoulder. He'd pulled her away from the Asgardian's attack in the nick of time, sheltering her with his own body. He sported a number of bandages himself. The two of them weren't making eye contact, and they were somewhat rigid, but his touch seemed to linger longer on Elsa's skin than seemed strictly necessary. Their body language told Astrid there was something between them, but it was hard to say exactly what.

Captain Killian was busily making preparations to depart. He'd received a few burns in the course of the battle too, but there was no time to tend to everyone. They couldn't be caught lingering here in Dunbroch, in case Asgard somehow learned of the day's events and sent reinforcements. They were off to Arthur's kingdom, some place called Camelot, within the hour. Astrid shuddered thinking of going through another one of those magical portals. But if Hic could adapt, so could she. She furtively moved around Stormfly until she could see him. He was crouched over Merida, who was still unconscious and lying face-down on a makeshift cot. She couldn't see his face, but his ministrations were tender in a way that told Astrid much. What was left of Merida's clothing had been cut away to reveal three deep wounds stretching from her left shoulder down to her right buttock. The male elf called Daínn was stitching them up neatly, murmuring some sort of rhythmic chant as he did so. There were two elves aboard the ship, never far from the child witch, Moriah. She snorted again. The world was a far stranger place than she ever could have imagined.

Astrid frowned unhappily as she watched Merida lying pale and beautiful on the cot. She had to admit that the woman had guts. And she was hands-down the best archer she'd ever seen. No wonder Hic had fallen for her. She was loyal, brave, fierce, and, oh yeah, just happened to be stunningly gorgeous to boot. When Astrid had seen her staring down that Sentinel in the face of certain death, red hair flaming like a pyre, she'd been impressed but also tempted, briefly, to just let the woman die. But she'd saved her anyway, even though it probably meant losing Hic. Astrid sighed heavily, returning her attention to dressing Stormfly's leg. She wondered if there would be more Asgardians to fight in Camelot. She hoped so.

When Merida, covered in blood and that freaky blue war paint, had let loose that lament and chopped the Asgardian's head off, Astrid had been shocked. But when she'd mounted that head on a pike in front of her family's castle, Astrid had nodded, understanding the gesture completely. It was a warning. No, a promise. A promise that Asgard would reap what it had sown. And Astrid had formed a grudging respect for the Princess of Dunbroch. They had two things in common, it seemed: love for Hic, and hatred for Asgard. They might never be friends, but they could be allies.

0000

Hic rinsed the cloth again, wringing out the blood and blue paint. Merida's face was still grimy, but slowly he was making headway, revealing the smattering of freckles he found so charming. She was so pale, though. It was all that blood she'd lost. She groaned as Daínn started on another row of stitches. He tried not to look at the wounds.

"Elsa, could you numb her again?" he asked. Elsa limped over to Merida's cot and wordlessly summoned ice in a gentle stream. It settled on the already stitched wounds in a thin layer. Merida shifted in her sleep. It was a blessing she was unconscious, given how badly she was injured. He ran a hand through her curls, gently unsnarling the twigs and debris.

"I am sorry I cannot heal with magic the way our elvish healers can. My strengths do not lie in that direction, but I believe she will live, regardless," said Daínn, softly, as he completed the last row of stitches and tied them off.

"I know, she's tough."

"Any woman who can face down a Sentinel and chop off an Asgardian's head is definitely tough enough to survive a few scratches," said Astrid over his shoulder, sounding grudgingly respectful. He blinked at her in surprise. She shrugged at him and went back to tending Stormily.

"We need to set sail," called Killian from the ship's wheel, "all hands on deck!"

There was a general scramble as people found their places. Stormily launched into the air with Astrid as they departed for the Velancor, setting the ship rocking. Toothless nudged Hic's shoulder with his nose, glancing questioningly at Merida's limp form.

"I think she'll be okay, buddy," he said, rubbing the dragon's neck. "You did great today, by the way."

Toothless nuzzled him again, looking pleased, then settled down next to Merida as if to guard her as she slept. Hic smiled. It seemed his dragon had grown quite attached, too.

The three young princes hadn't gone far from their sister since they'd landed back on the ship. They looked so much like her, with their fiery red curls and pale freckled skin. Their mother was a bit of a surprise, with her raven hair. She was resting in the bed downstairs, extremely weak. He supposed the children took after the late King Fergus. Hic knew all too well what it was like to lose a father. His heart ached for Merida.

He rinsed the cloth again, gently cleaning more blood and dirt from Merida's hands. Hands that had killed a man today. Hic couldn't blame her. After what Asgard had done to Berk, he wasn't sorry to see her take her revenge. But it had sent chills up his spine to hear her war cry as she chopped the Asgardian's head off. It was a degree of brutality he hadn't suspected she was capable of, and it made him wonder how well he really knew her. He was also proud of her strength, though, and thought with some amusement that his father would've liked her a lot. He felt a rush of love and grief, and had to look away for a moment to master himself.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a purple flash, and rising wind, as the ship passed through yet another portal. They were on their way to Camelot. He pushed aside russet curls to whisper in Merida's ear, inhaling her woodsy scent.

"I love you, Merida. Don't you die on me."


	4. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

"Where are we? Is that the ocean?" whispered Emma, cocking her head to listen. All around them stalks of wheat waved gently in the breeze, but she thought she could make out the rhythmic rush of waves as well.

"We are near the coast, yes," replied Rhys. "We stand in the plains of Idavoll."

"Which way is the city?"

All Emma could see was a vast moonlit field, stretching over the horizon.

"Asagarth is a two day's ride north," he said, pointing. "We pick up the road not far from here."

"Ride?" asked Regina. "On what? Where are you going?"

Rhys had begun walking in the opposite direction from where he had pointed.

"We need horses and supplies. We'll pass the night at the outpost and start for the city at dawn."

Ruby growled unhappily, clearly reluctant to follow. Rhys stopped and looked at her questioningly. He seemed to come to some realization as to why, for he chuckled.

"Ah, you remember Gryner," he said, sounding amused.

"Who's Gryner?" asked Regina, suspiciously.

"The captain in charge of this supply depot is not a pleasant man. Ruby took a justified dislike to him."

Ruby sniffed loudly in agreement.

"Maybe we should steer clear of this depot, then," suggested Emma. "I don't like the idea of getting up close and personal with Asgardian soldiers."

"We can sleep in the fields and walk all the way to Asagarth if you prefer," said Rhys, moving forward again. "It would only add, oh, four days to the journey."

"I guess it's a risk we have to take," said Emma unhappily.

"But we'll be watching you, Asgardian," warned Regina.

"I will be on my best behavior, General," he replied with a wave. "Can't say the same for your wolf, though."

"She can control herself," said Regina, casting a threatening one-eyed glare at the wolf as if suggesting there would be consequences if that weren't the case.

"You haven't met Gryner," he replied drily.

They walked a short distance until Emma could discern a squat stone fortress silhouetted against the starry sky. The rush of waves was louder the closer they got. The fort must be on a cliff overlooking the sea. Emma thought suddenly of a little whitewashed cottage perched high above the Storybrooke harbor. The tang of salt on the breeze brought Killian to mind so strongly, she imagined she also caught his leather and rum scent. Was he aboard the Jolly Roger by now, sailing the high seas? She took a deep breath and increased her pace, trying to divert her imagination from where it wanted to linger.

The moon was full and golden and loomed impossibly close, and the stars around it were arrayed in unfamiliar constellations. Swiveling her head, she gasped to discover another moon to the east, this one a pale blue sliver hanging low in the sky. She was standing on a foreign planet, on soil few humans had walked. Killian and Moriah were on another spinning globe, somewhere far across the vast reaches of space. Guilt for leaving and fear she'd never see them again twisted her guts, mixed up with a longing for them so intense it took all her willpower not to run back to the portal. But Henry needed her. She couldn't abandon her boy, not again. She trudged onward, following in the others' wake toward the entrance to the fort.

Rhys knocked on a small wooden door set into the portcullis. A porthole swung open, revealing a sleepy guard's face.

"Who goes there?" he yawned.

"Rhys."

"Captain," he saluted, snapping to attention. "You weren't expected. What brings you back so soon?"

"Prisoner transport."

The guard lifted a lantern, taking note of the bonds around Emma's and Regina's wrists. He didn't bat an eye at the large wolf, having apparently seen her with Rhys before.

"More so soon?"

"At the battlefront, one does tend to collect them," replied Rhys, with a touch of derision.

The guard stiffened. "We all have our roles to play in the war effort."

"Private, it's been a long day. We require shelter for what remains of the night. At dawn, I must have mounts to deliver these prisoners to Asagarth."

The guard scowled, but nodded. The door swung open to admit them. Emma's heart pounded as they followed Rhys inside. The door thunked closed with a solid finality. This place would be difficult to fight their way out of, if it came to that. Her gun was holstered beneath her jacket, and she repressed the urge to draw it. She focused on maintaining their ruse, hanging her head in a way she hoped was convincingly pitiful.

"Come, we will find something to eat in the kitchens and then rest for a few hours," said Rhys quietly, when they were out of earshot of the guard. "Just keep your heads down and behave like prisoners. And whatever you do, no magic."

Emma and Regina shuffled along complacently. It wasn't very hard for them to look defeated, actually. They were both exhausted and muddied from their earlier battle with the Sentinels. Had it really only been a few hours since they'd fought their way into the Dark Palace? The scent of baking bread washed over them, and her stomach rumbled loudly, hunger suddenly displacing all other thoughts. They filed into a small but tidy kitchen, where a plump gray-haired cook was kneading dough on a floured table.

"Miriam," said Rhys with a smile, "How are you?"

"Captain Rhys! I'm well, thank you," she said warmly, wiping flour off her hands on her apron. "Why, you look underfed, as usual. Let me knock something up, dear. And who's this? Ah, more poor souls for the Questioners, I see."

She looked pityingly at the two tired and dirty women crowding into her kitchen, and frowned at the ropes binding them. She reminded Emma a little bit of Granny, without the spectacles.

"First, a washing up, and then breakfast. I don't care if they're prisoners, untie them so they can eat like civilized people. Wolf! Out! Out! Shoo! Rhys, I told you before that I will not suffer dogs in my kitchen!"

Ruby had been sniffing hopefully at a haunch of pork turning on a spit over the fireplace. At the onslaught from the cook, she whimpered and darted for the door, tail tucked between her legs. Emma and Regina were untied and ushered into a side chamber with a water pump and told in no uncertain terms that they would not sit at Miriam's table without a thorough scrubbing first. Despite the coldness of the water, it did feel good to wipe off layers of sweat and grime. When they returned to the kitchen, Rhys was seated at the wooden table, digging into a plate of potatoes and pork.

Emma's stomach growled again, her mouth watering. Miriam slid a generous plate in front of her, and she dove in, hoping there was nothing dangerous about Asgardian food. It all tasted delicious, and she had to restrain herself from shoveling it in. Miriam kept up a light patter as she went back to kneading her dough.

"I daresay the campaign must be going well, for you to be bringing more prisoners to the capitol. Though why they need so many I couldn't guess. These two look harmless enough-"

Rhys choked on a bite of pork. He took a swig of water, eyes streaming.

"Appearances can be deceiving," he rasped.

"Yes, well, I suppose they can. But take that nice lad you brought through here just a few days ago," she continued, oblivious to the effect these words had on Emma and Regina. "So young. So polite! I just can't imagine that sweet boy could be a threat! Reminded me of my grandson, he did. But what do I know? I'm just a simple old woman."

Emma knew her own fury must show on her face, just like Regina's did. She took a calming breath and resumed eating, sparing a withering glare for Rhys. No matter how cooperative he was being, she had to remind herself that he had taken her son from them, and delivered him to torturers. Rhys kept his gaze on his plate, frowning unhappily at the remainder of his food. He pushed his plate away.

"Finish up," he said wearily. "We've only a few hours to rest before sunrise."

Emma and Regina scraped their plates clean and rose to follow, thanking Miriam.

"Oh, it's no trouble, dears," she said, clucking over them. "I'll make you up some nice parcels to take with you in the morning."

"Poor things," Emma heard her add under her breath, as they trudged back into the courtyard in search of a place to sleep.

00000

It seemed to Emma that only minutes had passed since she'd fallen exhausted onto her cot in the holding cell, but when Rhys shook her awake she saw that the sky in the window was streaked with dawn light. She rubbed sleep out of her eyes and stumbled groggily to her feet.

Out in the courtyard, Miriam was waiting with a hamper and three steaming mugs of coffee. Emma groaned with pleasure as she cupped the warm metal in her hands and inhaled the steam. Miriam watched her sadly.

"Enjoy it, dear," she said, with a tone that indicated she didn't expect them to enjoy much of anything in the future.

"Fehidir!" called a sneering voice from the shadows. A wiry man with a greasy looking mustache stepped into the courtyard.

Rhys stiffened, his expression stony.

"Gryner," he said, with a barely perceptible nod. Ruby beside him bared her fangs. When Gryner tried to ignore this, she added a menacing growl that slowed his steps.

"I see you brought your companion," said the man, inflecting the word with an insinuating emphasis, while edging away from the wolf.

"I have a prisoner transport to get on with. We require mounts to take us to the capitol, immediately."

"Our stables are nearly empty at the moment. Most of the stock have gone out with the regiments, as you know," said Gryner, smiling nastily. "But I think we can accommodate you."

A shaggy mare, looking sleepy, was being led out of the stables by the private who'd greeted them last night. The horse looked well kept, but not exactly in the prime of life.

Rhys scowled. "That nag is ancient. And we require three horses."

"As I said, we have none to offer you. However…"

Gryner gestured to the soldier. He went back into the stable and returned with two shabby mules, who fought their leads with a stubbornness that was not encouraging.

"You're joking," said Rhys.

"You can take these, or walk to Asagarth. Your choice."

And with that, Gryner swept away, stroking his mustache in a supremely satisfied manner that made Emma want to yank it off his pasty face. Rhys was grinding his teeth hard enough to be audible. With a resigned sigh, he swung up into the saddle and nudged the nag forward. She ignored him completely, instead lowering her head to nibble the grass poking through the paving stones.

"Well, mount up," he said to them. "Unless you'd rather stay here with Gryner."

Emma approached one of the mules. It was a shaggy black beast, and it watched her with rheumy, untrusting eyes. She climbed gingerly into the saddle expecting to be thrown off, but the mule barely moved beneath her. She patted its neck gratefully, which proved to be a mistake. The next moment she was cursing like a pirate and hanging on for dear life as they careered out of the courtyard. She pulled up desperately on the reins, which had absolutely no effect whatsoever. They were well down the dirt road when Ruby caught up to them. She easily outpaced the mule and nipped at it until the trembling beast gave up and came to a stop. The mule was lathered and breathing hard. Emma tried to bring her own thundering pulse under control.

She heard hooves on the road behind her. Rhys was trotting placidly along on his ancient mare, followed closely by Regina, who was sitting majestically atop her shaggy blonde mule as if it were a prize stallion.

"How are you doing that?" huffed Emma, watching Regina's mule trotting smoothly along the road as if leading a parade.

Regina smiled darkly. "We came to an understanding."

"The mule tried to bite her," said Rhys, clearly fighting a grin.

"Tried," said Regina, supremely dignified. "You have to show them who's in charge, Swan, or they'll walk all over you."

Emma tried to emulate the other woman's easy grace in the saddle, without much success. But eventually her mule, which she decided to call Mongoose, relaxed a bit and they found an awkward rhythm that seemed designed for maximum saddle soreness.

They traveled for hours under an intense sun. It was late summer in Asgard, nearing harvest time by the looks of the fields. Emma was sweating, but it felt good to bake in the warmth of a glorious day after the gray dreariness of the Enchanted Forest. She could tell Regina was also soaking it in. The woman had lived for the past five years in dark bunkers, as her pale skin attested. The countryside was truly beautiful, Emma had to admit. They passed from golden wheat fields into rolling hills, which were sprinkled with orchards and vineyards. The few people they passed were farmers and merchants, trundling by in wagons or on horseback, most with a respectful nod for Rhys and a polite curiosity toward his prisoners. Rhys deflected questions with his serious demeanor, and they made good time despite the reluctance of their mounts.

They paused briefly to rest in the shade of an abundant apple orchard. Regina took a particular delight in the perfect red fruit, selecting a handful to accompany their lunch. When she bit into one, she closed her eye and chewed slowly as though she hadn't tasted fresh fruit in years. Miriam had packed simple mutton sandwiches and a crock of ale, which they enjoyed in the shade of a large, gnarled tree.

"Asgard seems to have a healthy agricultural system," prompted Regina, studying the orchard around them with a shrewd eye.

"This area south of the capitol is some of the richest farmland in all of Asgard," replied Rhys, leaning his head back against the trunk. "In fact, a vineyard not far from here makes the most celebrated vintage in the realm."

"Is the war straining Asgard's resources?"

Rhys smiled. "Trying to gain information even now, General? No, we are not feeling much strain. The Order has been planning for this war for many years, as I told you."

"How does magic work here? Do all Asgardians have it?" asked Emma. Magic felt different here, stronger and more raw. She hadn't tried to use it yet, but she had a feeling that when she did, it would be like drinking from a firehose.

"Amazing you've held out against us so long, knowing as little as you do," mused Rhys, stroking his chin.

"Enlighten us, then," drawled Regina.

"Very well. No, not all Asgardians have magic. But compared to your own world, where it is rare, Asgard is rich in magic wielders. About a third of the population is born with the ability. Our world also has more magic to tap into. Did you feel it, when you stepped through the portal?"

Regina hesitated, then nodded.

"Yeah, I felt it too," agreed Emma.

"Maybe we should test our limits here, get a sense for what we can do," said Regina.

"I wouldn't advise it, General, unless you want to get yourselves captured before we even get close to Asagarth."

"You keep saying that. I don't see how it's so dangerous. I mean," said Regina, gesturing around them, "there's no one around for miles."

"Magic is heavily monitored here, and wielders must be trained from childhood and approved by the Guilds. Those who have the ability can sense when it's being performed from quite a distance, and if you don't have Guild approval, they arrest you. It's one way we tracked you down, back in your world, by the way."

"We did figure that out, eventually," responded Regina, acidly.

"That's how they caught Gold, right?" asked Emma. It still blew her mind that the Asgardians had managed to catch Rumple. He would have been at full Dark One power, once he'd come back to the Enchanted Forest. If they'd taken him to this Temple of Questioners, and HE hadn't been able to escape, then how in the hell were they going to break Henry out?

"Gold? Who's that?" asked Rhys.

"No one important," said Regina, with a sharp look at Emma. "What are the Guilds?"

"All magic wielders have intrinsic abilities which pre-dispose them to certain types of magic. I'm sure you each have your strengths and weaknesses. The Guilds are where children are sent for formal training once their talents manifest."

"What Guild are you in?" asked Emma.

"Battle, obviously," he said bitterly, with a rueful smile. "I had talents in a few areas, but my father chose the Guild with the greatest potential for glory."

"What other Guilds are there?"

"A great many. Most are dedicated to a certain craft, such as the Greening Guild, or the Healing Guild. Those are quite broad areas with many members. There are numbers of small, specialized Guilds, like the Skyspark Guild which is responsible for the holiday displays."

"An entire branch of magic devoted to fireworks? That seems like a waste," snorted Regina.

"We take our festival displays quite seriously in Asgard. The Skysparkers are revered. They also happen to develop explosive weapons for the Battle Guild."

"Ah," said Regina, nodding appreciatively. "That makes more sense. What else?"

"Oh, there are rumors about secret Guilds, but no one really knows if they exist."

"Like what?" asked Emma, intrigued. She'd had no idea that magic could be so ubiquitous that they even had specialists for certain areas.

"The Assassin's Guild is one that people tell stories about, but if it's real, it's a very tightly guarded secret. Or there are myths, like the Dreyma's Guild," he said, sounding amused as he clarified, "meaning Dreamwalkers."

"Dreamwalkers? What do dreams have to do with magic?"

"It's said that Dreamwalkers have the ability to penetrate the sleeping mind. It's just a child's tale told by parents to make their little ones behave. 'Be good or the Dreamwalkers will punish you tonight', that sort of thing."

"So there are people here who can get inside your head using magic?" asked Emma, horrified.

"It's just a story. It's said the Dreyma's Guild really did exist before the Long War, and its members were true telepaths who could control people with their thoughts," he replied with a shrug. "If there really were people with that kind of ability, I'm sure the Order of the Sun would be using them openly."

Emma shuddered. Magic could do a lot of great and terrible things, in her experience, but telepathy? Super creepy.

"Tell us about the people here," said Regina. "Miriam didn't seem to be particularly enthusiastic about the war. Would you say most of the populace supports it? Or do they just go along with whatever this Order of the Sun tells them to do?"

Rhys shrugged again. "The Order has been in control of Asgardian politics for centuries. And so far, we haven't taken many losses on our side. So the people have gone along. Not that there'd be much they could do to oppose the Order even if they wanted to."

"And they have no problem with making war on peaceful worlds? Slaughtering innocents?"

Regina's voice had gone ice cold. Rhys met her angry gaze levelly.

"It's an abstraction for them. The people have no idea what the situation is like in the worlds we conquer. They only know what the Order tells them, which is that we are destined to triumph, and rule the nine realms in eternal glory."

"But you know better," demanded Emma. "You've seen it! How can you sleep at night knowing what you've done to our homes, our people! You gave our son to torturers!"

A shadow fell across Rhys' face like a guillotine, closing his thoughts from them. He rose and stalked to his horse. Emma couldn't tell what he was thinking, but she did get the sense he was more than just a mindless soldier parroting the party line. Ruby had told them her suspicions that he was conflicted about his role in the war. The wolf watched him now with curious green eyes.

"If you want to see Asagarth by noon tomorrow," he said gruffly, "we should get back on the road."

She made an uneasy peace with Mongoose, by presenting him with an apple. The bribe appeared to work, since he didn't bolt as she climbed gingerly into the saddle. They rode through the afternoon, at as fast a pace as the mules could be coaxed to go. The sun set in a spectacular bower of golden light, casting their shadows long into the fields.

"We should work out a plan for when we get to the Temple," said Regina.

"I've been thinking about that," replied Rhys, "and I have an idea. We're going to need to find a farmhouse."

"A farmhouse?"

"One with laundry hung to dry. We need to steal some Asgardian clothing."

"For us? Why would we want to look Asgardian? Aren't we supposed to look like prisoners of war?"

"While you could gain access to the Temple that way, I think it would be an unwise strategy. You'd be incapacitated and in a cell before you could blink, and I don't have any authority within the Temple. The Questioners' control there is absolute."

"You have a better idea?"

"We will enter the city as pilgrims. The Temple accepts offerings every day from the public, and we will blend in with the masses."

"And what would we do once we're inside? I'm sure they don't just let visitors waltz into the dungeons."

Rhys smiled. "That they do not. For the next part of the plan, we'll need assistance."

"From who?"

"I have a contact in the city who will help us."

"Who…wait, what's that ahead?" asked Regina warily, pointing to dark shapes on the road in the distance. "Ruby, go check it out."

The wolf bounded away. They slowed their pace. Minutes passed and then Ruby trotted back to them, seemingly unconcerned. The wolf swung her shaggy head around, making sure no one was near, and then transformed to her human figure, keeping herself tucked tightly between Emma and Regina's mules. Rhys kept his eyes carefully on the road ahead, though Emma noted two spots of color appeared on his cheeks.

"It's a caravan," said Ruby. "Several wagons, brightly colored, plus a dozen men on horses. Looks like families, or at least I heard some children. Didn't want to get too close."

"Xoraxai."

"Say again?" asked Regina, swiveling her head to glare at Rhys. "You know these people?"

"It sounds like a band of Xoraxai," explained Rhys. Seeing their confusion, he added, "Tinkers. Gypsies."

"Are they dangerous?" asked Emma.

Rhys snorted. "Hardly. They wander Asgard to play music for coin, or mend metal things, or sell flowers. They have some minor ability with magic, but not enough to be taken into the Guilds."

"Could we get clothes from them, rather than risk getting caught stealing?"

Rhys sighed. "Yes, though they drive hard bargains."

"Do you have money?"

"Some."

"Then let's go. Give Ruby your cloak. Emma, let's take off the ropes."

"Don't you think they'll find a naked woman in a cloak a little weird?" asked Emma. "We don't want to stand out."

"Stand out? Like a tame wolf wouldn't?" retorted Regina, rolling her eye dramatically. "We need to buy clothes for Ruby, too. No way we're sneaking her into Asgard in wolf form."

Emma conceded the point, since the caravan was quickly coming into view. As slowly as their mules trotted, they were apparently still faster than a gypsy wagon train on the roll. Emma could see women and children among the riders, all dressed in brilliant colors.

"Ho there!" called a portly man who approached them, after dismounting from a stocky mare. His clothing was a riotous blend of green and orange. A large silver medallion of an intricate floral pattern secured his evergreen cloak. He was on the hairy side, sporting a black bushy beard flecked with gray, and dark curls peeking out over the collar of his tangerine shirt. His expression was open and cheerful.

"Ho!" replied Rhys, pulling his nag to a stop and dismounting. Emma and Regina followed suit.

"Greetings, fellow Travelers. Have you found the Path's End?"

Emma exchanged confused looks with Regina and Ruby, but Rhys bowed smoothly, touching his hand lightly to his brow and then his heart.

"We have not found the End, but not all who Wander are Lost."

The man repeated Rhys' bow and gestures with a smile.

"You know the greeting," he said, sounding pleased. "I would not have expected it of a soldier. No offense intended."

Rhys smiled. "I was not always a soldier, Pathfinder."

The man's eyes grin broadened further, and he touched the silver medallion on his chest. "And you know something of our ways! Most unusual! But where are my manners? You are a lucky man indeed to Travel with three beautiful women! I am Boyash, Pathfinder of Clan Kalderash."

He bowed low to each of them, hand to heart.

"I am Rhys. This is Emma, Regina, and Ruby. I encountered them on the road yesterday. They'd been set upon by thieves."

Boyash frowned and his bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise at seeing Ruby's bare feet beneath the cloak. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Alas, the roads are perilous these days, what with our soldiers all off fighting in distant realms. The brigands have become bold."

"As I was on my way to Asagarth myself, I thought I would see them there safely. They are pilgrims to the Temple."

"We go to Asagarth ourselves, to trade. We are Argintari and Florari, so we take our wares between Asagarth and Thrace during the summer season."

"As you can see, the ladies have been left with little. Have you clothing to spare? I've some coin to trade."

At the word 'coin', Boyash's dark eyes twinkled. He waved them to follow and they soon caught up with the wagons, which were pulling off the road to make camp for the evening.

They tied their mules to one of the wagons, which was painted with a mural of flowers in shockingly loud colors. Emma caught a powerful floral scent, and peeked inside to find tiered rows of clay pots full to the brim with roses and a riot of other blooms.

A dark-haired woman with olive skin came forward to greet them. She wore fewer colors than most of the Xoraxai, but her dress was still an electric shade of lilac. She had a spray of purple flowers tucked behind her ear and more woven into the thick braid that draped over her shoulder. She kissed Boyash affectionately on the cheek, and spoke to them in a surprisingly low, gravelly voice.

"Husband, who are our guests?"

Introductions were made by Rhys, with the same bowing and obscure phrases as before.

"I am Lhyia, Thorncutter of Clan Kalderash. You are welcome at our table tonight, fellow Travelers," said the woman graciously. Boyash leaned in and whispered something to her. She nodded and gently put an arm around Ruby, guiding her away.

"Please, come with me. We'll find you something suitable to wear."

They accompanied her through the camp, which was filled with the sound of children playing. A dark-haired girl about Moriah's age skipped by, chasing a ball. Emma's heart skipped a beat. Some of the Xoraxai were gathered around the campfire, playing lutes and other musical instruments. Music and laughter followed them as they entered one of the wagons, this one adorned with a mural of delicate silver filigree.

"Thieves, bold as brass these days," said Lhyia, shaking her head as she opened wooden trunks full of clothing. "The roads to Asagarth used to be safe enough for a woman to walk alone all the way from Thrace. Though naked as a jaybird is not to be recommended under any circumstances," she added wryly, with a raised eyebrow for Ruby.

"Just bad luck," replied Ruby smoothly, shrugging the cloak to the floor with a lack of self-consciousness that only a beautiful woman could possess. Her voice was muffled as she slipped a white shift over her head. "I stopped to bathe in a stream. When I got out, all my belongings were gone."

"A shame. At least they left your friends their undergarments," replied Lhyia, looking askance at Emma and Regina's clothing. They were both dressed in snug pants and other modern clothing that didn't attract much attention in Storybrooke, or in the bunkers of the Enchanted Forest, but were apparently out of place in Asgard. Emma sighed. How was she always ending up in places where women had to wear dresses? Lhyia pulled a series of gowns from the trunk, each more luridly dyed than the last, and complete with corseting. Emma suppressed a groan.

"Do you have anything less, er, colorful?

They succeeded in finding a simple linen dress in a subdued periwinkle blue for Regina, and a similar one in kelly green for Ruby, which Lhyia said brought out her eyes. Emma chose a durable looking gown with a muslin bodice and linen skirt in dusky rose that was light enough she could move in it easily. It wouldn't clash too badly with her red leather jacket, which she refused to relinquish despite the heat. Her boots went back on, complete with concealed daggers.

When they emerged into the twilight, the scent of cooking meat drew them to the large campfire. The Clan numbered perhaps three dozen people, many of them children. They followed Lhyia and settled in by Rhys, who watched Ruby from beneath hooded eyes. The green gown really did suit her coloring, Emma thought, and she had a feeling the Asgardian agreed. They accepted wooden mugs filled with spiced wine and plates of food. Rhys had finally pulled his attention from Ruby's cleavage, and was deep in conversation with Boyash.

"Have you heard anything of the north?" asked Rhys, sipping wine.

"Clan Muldesh have been there this season. We crossed steps with them outside Thrace. They are Aurari, so they venture to the far north every year to barter for gold at the mines."

"And?"

"There was little gold to be had this year. The mines have been producing record amounts, but it all goes to fill the Order's coffers. None is left these days to sell to Xoraxai or anyone else."

"Is there unrest?"

"Unrest? No, not really. The people carry on as they always have, though the trading season will be a poor one for many."

"What of the lords?"

"Lords? We know little enough of them, thank the Wanderer. Though Clan Muldesh did mention a great feast they performed at on their way back to Asagarth. A wedding celebration. Quite lavish."

Rhys grew still.

"Which House?"

"Lhyia, do you recall which House they played for?"

"It was House Tyr, I think? They said the bride rivaled Freya herself in beauty."

Rhys clenched his fists, his eyes glittering dangerously in the firelight.

"You know this House Tyr, friend Rhys?"

Rhys didn't answer, instead rising and striding off into the night. Ruby followed, ignoring Regina's hiss.

"What's at the End of the Path?" asked Emma, to cover the awkward moment. Lhyia responded.

"We don't know what lies at the Journey's end, but we walk the Path so that we may discover it for ourselves. Our people Wander as Odin did, seeking enlightenment."

"So you just stay on the road all the time, selling flowers?"

"Yes, our way is to Travel and our clan is Florali, true," said the woman, touching the flowers in her hair. "But we also are Argintari, by way of my husband's family."

At their looks of confusion, Boyash explained.

"We are silversmiths," he said, proudly. He unclasped his cloak medallion and handed it to Regina, who looked impressed by the craftsmanship and asked a number of questions about the silver trade. Emma yawned. A full day on the road combined with a full belly was slamming her lids closed.

"Enough talk, husband. Our guests are tired. Come, you can sleep in our wagon."

0000000

When she awoke in the morning, Regina was snoring next to her in the small bed. Emma sorted through lingering images from her dreams. She had seen Moriah perched on the rail of the Jolly Roger. There had been a huge white ship that followed in its wake. Shapes moved around on the top deck of the ship, and they had looked a lot like dragons. Emma shook her head to clear it, groggily clambering out of the wagon. It was dawn, and the camp was rousing. She followed the aroma of coffee to its source, and gratefully accepted a steaming mug from Lhyia.

Rhys was saddling their mounts, ignoring everyone. He still wore the dark uniform of the Asgardian military, but he sported a new cloak in a forest green hue. Ruby was crouched before the fire, staring moodily into the flames. Emma wondered what had happened between the two of them last night. Regina appeared at Emma's elbow and they silently sipped their coffee. Emma nudged her and quirked an eyebrow questioningly at Ruby, but Regina just sighed in a long-suffering way and shrugged.

"Friends!" said Boyash, approaching them with arms spread wide. "Today the Path takes us into Asagarth. Will you Travel it with us?"

Rhys answered for them.

"Much as we wish to, Pathfinder, we must make haste."

He pressed a few gold coins into Boyash's hand, who smiled broadly through his bushy beard.

"In that case, may our steps cross again someday," replied Lhyia, bowing to them with hand to heart.

"May our steps cross again," repeated Rhys, with the same bow.

They mounted and set off, waving to the Xoraxai until they were out of sight. Emma felt curiously sad to leave them behind. It had been strange, finding friends among the Asgardians. It was unexpected, and she knew it would make it harder to draw hard distinctions between 'us' and 'them'. But then she reminded herself of where they were headed, and what Henry was going through, and she hardened her heart. Some of them might seem friendly, but Asgardians were the enemy, simple as that.

0000

Asagarth was a jaw-dropper of a city. Emma had never been to Paris, but she imagined that the Asgardian capitol would put even the City of Light to shame. It seemed to be constructed entirely from pearly white stone, and it shone with a sort of unnatural cleanliness that made Emma laugh to remember the griminess of New York. The city occupied the entirety of a wide shallow vale that abutted a harbor. The sea shone beyond like a silver mirror, and Emma could make out the rigging of great ships dotting the bay. The city itself was surrounded by a massive wall of white stone. A river ran right through the heart of it before emptying into the harbor. Rhys had told them there were seven gates, each heavily guarded. At the center of the city, a multitude of slender spires rose gracefully to impossible heights. Even Regina looked impressed.

"So the Temple is in the middle of the city?" she asked.

"Yes. It's on an island in the center of the Ifingr river, which bisects Asagarth. And as I have said, it is heavily guarded."

"I still don't understand why we don't just keep up the prisoner schtick," said Emma. "Once we got inside, we could find a way to get to Henry and break him out."

"As I've told you, there are too many variables that would be outside our control. If you're a prisoner, you'd be tossed into the cells before you could blink. My plan is better."

Emma opened her mouth to argue, and was hushed by Regina.

"He's right. We'd be putting ourselves into a vulnerable position. And once they realized who I am, which wouldn't take long considering this," she said, pointing to her eye patch and the distinctive white streak in her hair, "we'd be in serious trouble. We'd be stuck trying to break ourselves out before we could even begin to help Henry."

Emma bit her lip to keep from arguing. The problem with Rhys' plan was that they had to put too much trust in him. If he betrayed them, they were toast.

They made their way down the gently curving road. The traffic here was substantially heavier than it had been in the countryside. A number of roads all converged on Asagarth, each of them full of merchants and travelers making their way to the capitol. It was a hot day, and the sun beat mercilessly down on them so that they sweated through their new dresses. Emma had long since abandoned her leather jacket, stuffing it into a saddlebag they'd purchased from Lhyia. She missed having her gun against her side, but the heat was too punishing.

They blended into the river of people and wares flowing into and out of the city by the southernmost gate. Rhys rolled up his sleeves to hide his insignia and unbuttoned the high collar of his shirt. With the addition of the green cloak, he didn't look much like a soldier. Emma had worried that their dresses would be too bright, and would give them away somehow, but they looked no different from a hundred other women in the crowd. Nonetheless, she held her breath as they passed under the shadow of the thick stone wall. No one paid them the slightest attention. There were a few guards, but such was the flow of people and goods that they simply stood at attention and let the river of humanity pass by unimpeded.

Rhys led them through the crowded streets, past open air markets and vendors selling wares of all descriptions. Most of the people looked well-fed and clean, and the streets were remarkably free of trash and the stink that usually accompanied large cities. The streets all rose in a loose spiral toward the center of the city, which was situated atop a hill. They continued to climb for some time, until Rhys diverted them down a side street. They emerged into a quarter of the city significantly shabbier than what they had seen so far. The buildings were dirtier, with bits of trash strewn on the cobblestones. Fewer people walked here, and they moved quickly as though not wanting to linger. Rhys pulled up in front of a small wooden door tucked discreetly into an alleyway. A placard in the shape of a golden cup hung above it, weatherbeaten and creaking in the breeze. He knocked sharply three times. A window in the door slid open, but Emma couldn't see who was behind it. Rhys exchanged quiet words with whoever it was, then the window slammed shut. He gestured to them to remain quiet, then led his mare further down the alley. A gate swung open, revealing a small courtyard with a stable. They filed in silently, handing their mounts over to a pair of stable boys.

"What is this place?" hissed Regina, as they followed Rhys through a side door into the building.

"This," he said, "is The Golden Cup."

The common room was dark, lit only with a few candles, so it took Emma's eyes a few minutes to adjust. The place was decorated with heavy silks, every surface covered in tapestries and enormous pillows. Golden censers hung on the walls emitted a sickly sweet smoke which hung thickly in the air, making Emma's eyes water. The place was mostly empty save for a few servants. A thin old man approached and bowed.

"Follow me sir, madams," he whispered.

Emma's head was spinning from the smoke, which made her feel a little drunk. Ruby was openly covering her nose with her sleeve. They passed a series of chambers, all decorated with the same heavy hand. A few were occupied by people reclining on pillow-strewn platforms, smoking something in elaborate pipes that reminded Emma of hookahs. She had the sinking feeling she knew what kind of place this was.

The butler knocked softly on a door at the end of the passage, and then gestured them to enter. This room was similar to the others, but more brightly lit with a profusion of candles. There were no censers spewing smoke here, and Emma took a deep, grateful breath. An older man was seated at an ornate mahogany desk, writing in a ledger. He was elaborately coiffed, his white hair curled in perfect whorls tight to his head. A pair of spectacles perched perilously near the end of a stubby nose. When he looked up, he smiled broadly at Rhys and rose, though he was not much taller standing than he was sitting. He had a neat white goatee and mustache, all ending in dramatic spirals. His attire was absurdly luxurious, consisting of a heavily embroidered silk smoking jacket and matching pants. He padded toward them on velvet slippers.

"Grimsby told me who it was, but I simply couldn't believe it was true," he said, his voice surprisingly soft and girlish, with a hint of a lisp. He held his arms out in greeting. "Rhys, my boy, it's been too long."

"Uncle Jael," said Rhys, accepting the man's hug with awkward stiffness. "I need your help."

"My help? Of course dear boy, you were always my favorite nephew, you know. He didn't spurn me like the rest of the family did," he said, leaning toward the three women conspiratorially. "The rest of the jackals wouldn't so much as look at me after… well, better not to speak of such things. Let me have a look at you."

He craned his neck up at Rhys.

"You have the look of my sister in your face, gods rest her sweet soul, but the rest of you is all HIM," he said. "You must be even taller than your brute of a father!"

"I am, though my brother is taller still."

A dark look passed over Jael's face at this. "Hmph, best we don't speak of that beastly Gryphon, either. I heard about the wedding, Rhys. I'm sorry, my boy. I'd wish them ill, but gentle Amora would not deserve it."

Rhys stiffened again, his expression stony. "No, she would not."

Ruby was following this exchange with intense curiosity. Jael noticed her expression and chuckled, looking her up and down with something like professional appraisal.

"Ah, but you've found a rather stunning means of comforting yourself, I see! Excellent taste, if I do say so myself."

"Uncle-"

Ruby bared her teeth and growled. Jael chuckled.

"And ferocious to boot! I always said Amora was too soft and gentle for you, lad! You need a rebellious spirit, a fire to match your own!"

He was still chuckling at the reddened faces of Rhys and Ruby, who were looking anywhere but at each other, when he turned his attention to Emma.

"Ah, my patrons are always clamoring for the golden ones. And you, darling, rival the very sun! Pray tell, give me your name so that I may thank the gods for bestowing such beauty on our humble establishment," he said, bowing to kiss her hand.

"I'm Emma," she replied, slowly, not sure what to make of this strange man. "What exactly is this place, by the way?"

His white eyebrows rose in surprise, revealing pale blue eyes that twinkled with amusement.

"What is The Golden Cup? Why, it is only the finest house of pleasure in all of Asagarth!"

Rhys choked a bit at this, hiding a smile behind his hand.

"You brought us to a brothel?!" hissed Regina. "This is your big plan?"

Jael drew himself up to his full, and not terribly impressive, height, glaring at Regina and bristling like a scalded cat.

"Madam, The Golden Cup is no mere brothel! We serve the great, the powerful-"

"The disgustingly wealthy," supplied Rhys.

Jael sniffed, but didn't argue.

"Yeah, it looks more like an opium den to me," added Emma. "How can this possibly help us get into the Temple?"

"The Temple?" gasped Jael, clutching his chest dramatically. "Rhys, I am older than my youthful appearance suggests. Please tell me you are only here to visit your beloved Uncle Jael, not to enlist me in a harebrained scheme to infiltrate the Order!"

"Uncle, as I said, I need your help."

Jael sighed, and waved the butler over.

"Grimsby, bring us some mulled wine and luncheon for five."

Jael indicated they should sit with him on a platform piled high with pillows.

"Now, tell me what you think this simple old man can do to help."

"Simple old man? Uncle, you were head of the Spymasters Guild for thirty years. You can do more than most," said Rhys drily.

Jael dropped his smile, and Emma was shocked by the change in his face. The foppish exterior fell away like as though a curtain had been drawn, revealing a fierce intelligence. His pale eyes were now drilling a hole through Rhys so forcefully, Emma expected to see his cloak start smoking. Whatever this eccentric old man was, he was certainly more than he seemed at first glance. Regina sat forward, eye glittering with excitement.

"You were a spy?" she asked.

"Such stories you tell, nephew! I am but a humble brothel owner," he said in answer to Regina's question, "as you so correctly surmised."

Jael reclined on a pillow, once again concealed behind his smiling mask of soft, eccentric old man. The appraising look he leveled at Regina said otherwise, however. Rhys snorted.

"Uncle, we've no time for games. Deny it all you want, but the fact remains that you are the only person in this city who can help us."

Grimsby returned with the wine and a plate of cheese and fruit, and they remained silent until he once again backed out of the room.

"Assist you with what? You come to me with a pair of women who are certainly not Asgardian, not to mention stronger with magic than almost anyone I've met in my long lifetime, and, if I'm not mistaken, a shapeshifter. What is it, I wonder, that you could possibly want my help with?"

He sipped his wine, watching them shrewdly and waiting for their reactions. Emma's mouth had fallen open, and Regina was holding her hand in such a way that a fireball was mere seconds away from being summoned. Ruby was tensed as though contemplating going for his throat.

"Let's just calm down, everyone," said Emma, reaching out a placating hand at Regina before she made the mistake of using magic so close to the Temple.

"Yes, calmness is a virtue that you will need in spades if you truly intend to infiltrate the Temple," replied Jael smoothly, popping a grape into his mouth.

"There is a young man inside the Temple. A human. We intend to rescue him," said Rhys.

Jael's eyebrows rose.

"Rescue a human, from Questioners? I can certainly see why you need help, my boy. But before I agree, I must know one thing. Why?"

Rhys hesitated. He couldn't tell his uncle the real reason he was helping them, which was that Regina had his heart held prisoner in her chest and was ready to strike him down at the slightest provocation.

"I delivered the young man to the Questioners myself. I was angry about…something else, and I regret it. These two women are his mothers. And no, don't ask me how that's possible, I don't know. I've promised on my honor to help them save the boy."

Jael absorbed this story, betraying neither suspicion nor belief. Emma was startled to find no hint of a lie in Rhys' words. Her special ability told her he was being honest. Perhaps they could trust Rhys after all, if he truly regretted what he'd done to Henry.

"I know how you value honor and duty, nephew. Admirable traits, but likely to lead you down dangerous paths. Just as they once exiled you to military service rather than to rule your lands as you should."

Rhys paled.

"It was not my place to rule. Gryphon is first-born Lord of Tyr, as he should be."

"No, he is not fit to rule as you were, and well we both know it. But," he said with a sigh, "that is a topic for another time. You truly wish my help in this mad endeavor?"

"Yes, Uncle."

"Then, we must plan carefully."


	5. The Golden Cup

Emma held her breath to guard against the opium haze, which assaulted the nose with its pungent nutmeg odor. The Golden Cup's common room was dimly lit and overwarm, as usual. Beside her, Ruby was already holding her own cloak to her nose and glaring at the smoke-spewing censers along the walls. The evening crowd was beginning to trickle in, filling up the pillowed platforms with a low hum of whispered conversation and laughter. A number of attractive young women and a few men were circulating in gauzy red robes that left little to the imagination, refilling glasses and lighting hookah pipes.

They'd been stuck here nearly two days, restlessly waiting. They were dependent on Jael for planning of the rescue attempt, and no amount of complaining would speed his efforts. Ruby knocked on the door to Jael's study, and they entered. Rhys and Regina awaited them, but there was no sign of the proprietor himself.

"About time!" snapped Regina.

"It's a big city, okay?" huffed Emma, throwing herself down on a plump pillow. Rhys poured her a goblet of chilled wine, which she accepted gratefully.

"Well?"

"It's just like Jael told us. All pilgrims are searched when they enter and their names checked against the list of expected visitors. If you're not on it, they don't let you in."

Jael had insisted that Rhys' pilgrim subterfuge wasn't a workable strategy for getting into the Temple. Ruby and Emma had gone tonight to test this claim, and he'd been right, which totally sucked. They were definitely stuck waiting on Jael now to get them inside and back out again with Henry. It was a lot of trust to put in someone they just met, much less someone who had once been a master spy for Asgard. Jael might be doing this for his favorite nephew, as he said, but Emma suspected he had some ulterior motive.

"The Temple is massive, Regina. Rhys wasn't exaggerating when he described the security," said Ruby, sprawling out on her back and rubbing her temples. The opium smoke in the common room gave the poor woman splitting headaches. "There are armed Brothers and Acolytes everywhere."

"I guess we really are stuck with Jael's plan then," growled Regina. She hadn't gone with them. Thanks to her distinctive appearance, it would've been too risky.

"Rhys, I know he's family, but are you sure we can trust him to help us?" asked Emma. She was still trying to decide whether Jael could be trusted. Her special ability was curiously silent when he spoke. She never got the sense he was lying to them, but she also never felt sure he was telling them the truth. She supposed that talent was important for someone who had once been Spymaster of Asgard.

Rhys took one of Ruby's hands from her temple. He ignored her murmur of protest and applied pressure to the bridge between her thumb and forefinger in a practiced manner. Ruby relaxed and let her other hand fall away, nearly purring with pleasure.

"Wow, that's quite a trick for getting rid of a headache," she said. "Is that healing magic?"

Rhys ignored the question, instead answering Emma.

"My uncle was Spymaster for decades. He was a very powerful man in Asgard, working from the shadows."

"Working for who? The Order of the Sun?"

"Sometimes, yes. But the Spymasters Guild is a force unto itself, supposedly independent of all ties. They hire themselves out to the highest bidder, but they also have their own code and designs I can't begin to guess at. But pretty much any intrigue that swirls around Asagarth, you can be sure it involves the Spymasters in some way. Jael was at the center of that for a long time."

"Did he retire?"

"Retire? Hardly," chuckled Rhys. "Spymasters are born, not made. I suspect he could more easily give up breathing. He was forced out of service, though I don't know all the specifics. Brother Vakyr came into power within the Order when the Wanderer was found twelve years ago. They say he used his influence to replace Jael with someone more loyal to the Order. He didn't go willingly, so the Guild cooked up a scandal. Ruined Jael's reputation and burned his ties with family and friends. He was tossed out of the Guild in disgrace, and he's been quietly running the Golden Cup ever since. He still dabbles in the intrigues of the upper classes as much as he can, though he keeps it quiet."

"So he has a bone to pick with both the Guild and the Order?" asked Regina, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

"I think that he was very easily persuaded to help us," agreed Rhys. "Make of that what you will."

"Indeed I was, nephew," said Jael, stepping out of a section of bookcase that swung into the room on silent hinges. He smiled at their surprise at his sudden appearance. "I admit there is a certain thrill to stepping back into the game, especially with proper stakes. Stealing a prize prisoner right out from under the Order's noses…it's enough to make this old man feel young again!"

Jael beamed with anticipation, and rubbed his be-ringed hands together with relish.

"Tell me, ladies, how was your visit to the Temple?"

"How-" Emma began to ask, then thought better of it. If he was a spy, of course he knew where they went. "It was like you told us it would be. High security."

"And do you now see the wisdom of my plan?"

Regina, Emma and Ruby looked at one another grimly, silently ascertaining if they were really going to do this crazy thing. One by one, they nodded.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together sharply. The door to the corridor swung open to admit three women carrying armfuls of gowns and an assortment of paint pots and brushes. "Let's get started, then."

Emma's jaw dropped open. She hadn't expected they would begin immediately. Her pulse began pounding.

"We're going tonight?!" breathed Regina.

Ruby stood, wrenching her hand away from Rhys, who looked disappointed.

"I thought you were eager to rescue the boy?" asked Jael.

"Definitely," said Emma, nodding emphatically. She rose and started stripping off her clothing. The other women did likewise.

Rhys made himself scarce along with his uncle as the maids went to work. An hour went by in a blur of silk and lace. When at last the maids retreated, the three Storybrooke women remained, each nearly unrecognizable to each other.

Ruby was encased so tightly in a sleeveless red silk gown with a long train that it looked as though she'd been dipped in scarlet paint. The bodice was cut indecently low, leaving her a deep breath away from total exposure. Her raven hair was swept back in an elegant chignon, and a blood red dahlia bloomed exotically behind one ear. Her lips were tinted the same shade, and dramatic charcoal sweeps at her eyelids accentuated her green eyes. She was struggling to tug on a pair of black elbow-length gloves.

Regina was clad in an indigo gown, with a high neck and long sleeves. It was, however, completely transparent. Her black lace undergarments, including a violently cinched corset, were starkly visible. She strutted over to the mirror, struck a pose in her spike-heeled thigh-high black boots, and gave herself an approving nod. Her black hair was upswept, making the eye patch all the more pronounced. The maids had done their best to work around it, but they hadn't been able to lessen her sinister appearance.

Emma approached the mirror herself, feeling unbelievably awkward, and gawked at the pink apparition that awaited her.

"Marvelous!" said Jael, who had silently re-entered the room and was watching her appraisingly as she spun, astonished, in the mirror. "It suits you, my dear. All of you! Positively ravishing! A shame you cannot stay with me at the Golden Cup for a time. We would do excellent business together!"

Emma was unrecognizable to herself. She was swathed in a gown of blush-colored silk. It clung to her hips and waist, but it was draped somewhat modestly over her breasts. The sleeves were long but cut open to the elbow, leaving her forearms exposed. The back was open as well and dipped provocatively low, ending in a point just above the crack of her ass. It was just barely held together across her shoulder blades with a pair of thin golden chains that met at her spine and then trailed downward, where they disappeared alluringly into the dip of her gown. She had a feeling if she moved too quickly, the chains would simply pop open and she'd be left standing naked in the street. The gown gave her legs for miles, cut high on both sides as it was. Her hair was left down, and styled in loose waves that fell over one shoulder. She wore little makeup, compared to the other two women. Her lips and cheeks were a blush pink to match the dress. If Killian could see her now, she thought with a grin, he'd cut off his other hand for a night with her.

"We must do something about that eye," tutted Jael at Regina.

"Well, unless you'd prefer that I walk around with an empty eye socket, this is as good as it's going to get," said Regina, a little defensively.

"My dear, you don't get to be a Spymaster without learning a few tricks," he said. He pulled up a short stool and climbed atop it, so that he was more or less eye to eye with Regina. He briskly removed her eye patch and put his hands to either side of her face, batting away Regina's attempts to fend him off. Emma caught a glimpse of scarring and looked away, not wanting to see her friend in a vulnerable state.

A small shiver of magic washed over Emma's skin, and she heard Regina gasp.

"What did you do?"

When Emma turned around, she saw Regina leaning in close to the mirror, examining her perfect pair of eyes with a stunned expression.

"It's an illusion, I'm afraid. It will only last a few hours. But that should be enough," said Jael.

"Can you see from it?" asked Emma.

Regina shook her head, unable to tear herself away from her reflection. The illusion really was perfect. She put a tentative hand to her new eye, frowning.

"I can feel the real scarring there. The magic just hides it, by mirroring the other eye," she said, sounding disappointed. "Clever. Between this and the hair, you've really turned back the clock, Jael."

Emma realized that the white streak in Regina's hair was gone as well, leaving it perfectly black and glossy. Jael really had managed to reverse time, it seemed. Regina looked just like she had when Emma had last seen her in Storybrooke, save something hard and merciless in her eyes. Five years commanding a ragtag resistance had changed her in some fundamental way.

There was a knock at the door, and Rhys entered, now wearing an expensive—looking gray doublet and tight black breeches. He froze in mid-step, thunderstruck. His gaze was riveted on Ruby, who, to Emma's surprise, actually blushed.

"Ahem," said Jael, grinning mischievously as he watched this exchange. "Your turn, Rhys. Can't have you looking like yourself, you know."

Rhys stumbled a bit as he approached, eyes never leaving Ruby for a moment. She smiled a small triumphant smile as she swiveled to give him a good look at her backside, which meant that he was thoroughly distracted while his uncle put his hands to his face. The air seemed to waver as Jael wove his magic. When he dropped his hands, Rhys was gone, replaced by a man with short blonde hair. The face was similar, though the scars were all smoothed away. A day's worth of stubble graced his jawline, and there was something subtly different about the shape and color of his eyes. All in all, he no longer looked precisely like himself.

"Impressive," said Regina, who was watching his technique intently. "If we make it through this, I'd like to learn how you do that."

Emma silently agreed. This was a skill that could come in handy some day. Jael shook his head.

"Now now, ladies. I might not be in the Guild any longer, but I'm not apt to give away all its secrets! Now, you all remember the details of the plan, yes? When you arrive at the Temple gate, ask for Clarice. She will escort you inside. This," he said, brandishing a tiny bottle of liquid, "is for the wine once you reach Brother Jerys' rooms. Careful you do not touch it. No more than one drop per goblet. Remember, the dungeons and Questioning chambers are in the northernmost tower. I shall wait for you here. If all goes well, I will see you in a few hours."

He handed the bottle to Regina, who hesitated for a moment as she debated where in her transparent dress she could possibly conceal it. She finally tucked it inside her eye patch, as it would be invisible to anyone who might search them. Jael chuckled appreciatively.

"You would've made an excellent addition to the Guild, my dear," he said. Regina tried to hide it, but Emma could tell that she was pleased by the compliment. He turned to Rhys, bracing himself. Emma knew he'd planned this, but she still winced.

"You must make it convincing, boy," he said.

Rhys hesitated, but finally punched the old man squarely in the nose with a nauseating crack. Jael howled as blood gushed from it, and soaked his elaborate white mustache and goatee with crimson. Rhys waited, looking a bit ill, but when the old man nodded he punched him again, this time in the eye. Jael doubled over, clutching his bloodied face.

"You've got a good right hook, boy. Definitely got that from your mother," he muttered.

"Uncle-" started Rhys apologetically, but Jael held up a hand to forestall him.

"Don't be silly, boy, it is a necessary precaution. Now, tie me up as we agreed. If anything goes awry, I must be beyond suspicion."

He sat upon his chair, and allowed Rhys to tie him up, though Emma was fairly certain that someone as crafty as the old Spymaster could get out of a few restraints with no problem.

"Good luck, to all of you."

"We'll see you soon, Uncle. And thank you."

They filed out of the study, Emma bringing up the rear. As she passed, she bent swiftly to kiss Jael's cheek. She felt inexplicably fond of the old man. She was sure they could trust him, even if he kept his secrets close to the vest.

"Whatever your reasons for helping us," she whispered, "thank you."

"You're most welcome, my dear, and may I just say, pink truly is your color," he whispered back, with a lascivious wink.

"Jael, my jacket and saddlebags have important things in them," she said, not wanting to go into detail. Her gun and the orb that opened the Crossings were among one those things, and she didn't want to risk bringing them along. Jael seemed to understand her concern, and inclined his head toward the desk behind them.

"There is a concealed button beneath the desk surface here. Do you feel it? Good, press it firmly."

A small section of books in the shelving behind them was revealed to be a false panel. It slid open with a snick. Emma hurried over and shoved her belongings inside the small cavity, and pressed the false panel closed. She hurried to join her companions, pausing only to give Jael a last grateful wave, which he returned with a bloodied smile.

0000000

The ride to the castle was swift, since they were borrowing Jael's carriage. The Temple's outer gates were barred at this late hour, but they were waved through into the courtyard once the guards saw the sigil of The Golden Cup on the side of the coach. They rolled right up to the main door, and exited to appreciative leering by the handful of guards. They weren't questioned closely. As Jael had told them, the Golden Cup supplied men and women to the Temple for the pleasure of the wealthiest Brothers and Acolytes on a regular basis. Regina asked for Clarice as Jael had instructed, and they were told to wait. A quarter hour had passed, their nervousness increasing, until finally a harried-looking woman in simple gray livery arrived. She looked the women up and down with a judgmental scowl and sniffed.

"You're for Brother Jerys then? Follow me," she said, whirling on her heel and stalking away. She was clearly vexed at having to interrupt her work in order to fetch a trio of high-end hookers.

They followed her into the bustling interior of the Temple. All the men of the Order wore gray hooded robes that fell to their ankles, with a gold sun insignia on the breast. Brothers wore braided gold belts and swords in golden scabbards, while Acolytes wore silver with matching daggers at their waists. All were young and close-shaven, giving the place the air of a military barracks or a bizarre private school. All activity came to a standstill as they passed, and they followed Clarice in a tide of crude comments and low whistles.

"Who can afford pieces of ass like that?"

"Must be Jerys, the little bastard can't get any unless he pays for it."

This she overheard from a pair of Acolytes that couldn't have been more than sixteen. They were watching Ruby's silk-clad hindquarters swish past them. A muscle twitched in Rhys' jaw, but he held himself in check as they made their way deeper into the compound. They passed through a series of marble courtyards and into a rotunda. Clarice began to climb the grand staircase, motioning them impatiently to follow. They made their way up half a dozen flights, but the woman showed no signs of slowing down until they reached a landing that looked just like the others, save for a small placard that seemed to indicate which floor they were on. Emma committed it to memory, just in case.

"Third door on the right," said Clarice briskly, as she started back down the stairs. "You can see yourselves back out when he's done with you. Ask an Acolyte if you get lost. No wandering about the place, if you know what's good for you."

They proceeded as directed, and knocked on the third door.

"Enter!"

A small man, gone a bit gray at the temples, lounged upon an immense bed. The room was luxuriously decorated. Like much of the Temple they'd seen thus far, the members of the Order of the Sun did not seem to skimp on material comforts for its members. Jerys whistled low and appreciatively as they entered.

"The old devil told me he'd outdone himself with his latest acquisitions, and Odin strike me down if he didn't."

The Brother stood, and Emma had to stifle a snicker. His head barely reached their shoulders. He circled each of them in turn, studying them as if memorizing their measurements. He paused at Ruby's barely covered cleavage, which was right at eye level for Jerys. Rhys had assumed a position by the door, and was doing a decent job of appearing impassive, except for the angry set of his jaw.

"You may go now," said Jerys, waving a hand.

Rhys stepped out and closed the door behind him.

"May I offer you ladies some refreshment?" asked the Brother, licking his lips. He ran a hand lightly over Ruby's hips. His robe was hanging open in a way that left little to the imagination. He was very excited to make their acquaintance.

"Allow me," purred Regina, heading for the decanter with an extra wiggle in her hips that drew his attention like flies to honey.

Emma slunk toward him with the sexiest walk she could manage, hoping to distract him while Regina dosed the wine. His pupils dilated with pleasure as she took his hand and led him to the bed. With a quick flick of her wrist, his robe was on the floor. The man groaned as he sank to his knees in front of her, putting his sweaty hands on her hips. Emma shuddered with revulsion as he attempted to slide his fingers beneath the silk of the dress. She slapped his hands away and backed off with a coquettish smile. He was momentarily stunned, and then intrigued by the sudden cat and mouse routine. Regina approached with a goblet for him, and one for Emma, which she pretended to sip from. Jerys took a long swallow from the goblet, set it aside, and startled them all by dropping to his hands and knees. He crawled toward Emma, begging exaggeratedly.

"Please, mistress, let me lick your beautiful-"

She never learned which part of her body he was hoping for, as the drug felled him to the marble floor like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

"Thank god that worked fast," she breathed with relief. "Ruby, get Rhys. We need to move quickly."

The laundry basket that Jael had promised would be waiting in Jerys' bathroom was indeed there, with a false compartment in the bottom. It was large enough to fit a person in, barely, and contained four sets of grey robes and boots. They all changed quickly. Rhys donned Jerys' golden belt and scabbard, while the women put on the silver belts and daggers that Jael had provided. The robes were loose enough that they could pass as boys, as long as they kept the hoods up.

Regina and Ruby grabbed the basket's handles and lifted it between them. They set off down the corridor, in the direction of the North tower. The hour had grown late, so they passed no one for some time. White flames danced in glass balls along the ceilings, lighting their way gently. A robed Brother appeared once as they rounded a corner, but he merely nodded absently at Rhys and ignored the lowly Acolytes altogether. The North Tower was smaller in diameter than the others, but stretched just as high. Craning her neck, Emma could see small windows puncturing the white marble at intervals. There was only one way in, and one way out, which was the door they stood in front of at its base. A single guard barred their way. He was a Brother, but young.

"State your business," he said, in a bored voice.

"Laundry," grunted Rhys, jerking a thumb at the basket.

"Why so many Acolytes for a simple laundry detail?" he said, frowning suspiciously at Emma, who had nothing in her hands.

"Punishment detail. I want these Acolytes to see the Questioning chambers."

Jael had told them it was common practice for Brothers to intimidate new Acolytes with trips to the North Tower. Emma held her breath, hoping he had been right with this bit of intelligence.

The guard smirked. "Yeah, I remember when my mentor dragged me into the Chambers one night. Scared me right straight, that did. Go on up."

"Any new prisoners lately? Want to show them a Questioning in progress if possible."

"Only one new one this week, he's in the top room. Brother Vakyr has been Questioning him personally. Can't believe he's held out this long, must be some kind of record for a human. If you have the legs to climb all the way up, it'll be a lesson to set your boys on the right path, that's for sure."

The guard's voice had broken a little at the mention of this Brother Vakyr. Emma's heart plummeted, but she also breathed easier. Henry was being tortured, but he was still alive. The guard stood aside, and they entered. A spiraling stair rose within the tower in a dizzying swoop. It reminded her of the inside of a lighthouse she'd once taken Henry to back when they lived in Maine.

"Brother Vakyr isn't here, is he?" asked Rhys of the guard, quietly.

"No! You think I'd let you in here if he were?" replied the young man, appalled.

"Of course, Brother. Can't be too careful where that one is concerned, though."

The guard blew out a nervous breath. "You can say that again. Be quick, will you? My shift is over in twenty minutes, I want you out by then."

Rhys nodded, and prodded Ruby forward.

"Get going, you heard the Brother."

They began to climb.

000000000

Emma paused at a landing, huffing slightly. She was in pretty decent shape, but this was a crapload of stairs. She peered out the small circular window and was rewarded with a spectacular view of the adjacent towers, all gleaming in the moonlight like silver spikes.

"Come on!" hissed Regina. "You're not even carrying this stupid basket, Swan. Move!"

Emma rolled her eyes, but started up again. They were nearly to the top. They had passed several levels of cells spinning off the main staircase, but since the guard had told them the top chamber was where Henry would be, they hadn't bothered to explore. To Emma's surprise, there was no guard outside the door when they finally reached it. In fact, aside from the guard at the foot of the tower, they hadn't come across anyone inside this place at all.

"They must be pretty confident," breathed Regina, "that their Temple is secure."

"Yeah, just one guard?" agreed Emma.

Rhys frowned. "Whatever you do, no magic. Remember that there may be defenses in place here that we simply can't see."

They all nodded. Rhys put a hand to the bolt, and pulled it back with a thud that sounded like thunder in the silence. The door swung open, and they entered the dark room.

The stairwell had been lit by those little balls of white fire, whereas this room had only moonlight to guide them. There were floor to ceiling windows around the perimeter, offering a peaceful, starry panorama at total odds with the purpose of this room. She felt metal trenches underfoot, and realized, with a sick lurch, what they must be for. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out a human figure hanging in the center of the room.

"Henry?" she whispered. She ran forward, Regina on her heels. The body was cool to the touch, but she found a pulse. She ran her fingers over his face, trying to discern if it was her boy or not.

"Henry!" said Regina, tapping his cheeks. "Wake up!"

His body jerked as he came awake.

"Leave me alone!" he snarled, struggling weakly against his bonds. Emma couldn't see what held him, there were no manacles around his wrists. She slid her hands around his torso and gasped with horror. There were large hooks entering his back. Iron loops had been embedded into his flesh, and it was these that suspended him. She hissed with fury.

"Help me lift him!" she choked, near tears.

He struggled against them, but he was clearly weakened by long captivity. They lifted him off the hooks and lowered him to the floor as gently as they could manage.

"Henry, it's us!" said Regina.

"M-mom?"

"Yes, it's me and Emma and Ruby. We've come to get you out."

"N-no, it's another trick. Don't believe you anymore. Don't believe you," he muttered.

"It's us. Henry open your eyes and look at me," said Emma. "It's Operation Mongoose 3.0, kid."

At that, Henry stopped struggling.

"I-I didn't tell him that. I didn't tell about Operation Mongoose."

"That's right, kid. We're taking you home. Rhys, help us get him in the basket."

They lifted him gently into the basket, covering him with their discarded clothing.

"Wait, wait," he croaked.

"What is it? We have to get you out of here, now."

"It's grandpa. He's here."

Emma's blood froze. "David?"

Henry shook his head.

"Rumplestiltskin? He's alive?" gasped Regina.

"I saw him the first night I arrived. Maybe not too right in the head anymore. Have to take him with us."

Regina and Emma shared an exasperated look.

"We can't risk this whole mission for Rumplestiltskin, Henry."

"Can't leave him here. You don't know what it's like."

"Where is he?"

"One flight down, last cell."

"Hold on, this is not the plan!" hissed Rhys. "What are we supposed to do with another person? Find a second laundry basket? This is crazy!"

"Wait, I know you…aren't you the Asgardian from the EF?" rasped Henry, squinting at Rhys.

"Yeah, it's a long story kid, he's helping us-whoah!"

Henry had taken a swing at Rhys, which connected with the Asgardian's chin with surprising strength.

"Mills! Knock it off!" scolded Ruby. "He's on our side, now."

Henry didn't hear her, having collapsed unconscious into Rhys's arms from the effort of throwing the punch. Emma expected him to be angry, but he just shrugged and pushed Henry gently back down into the basket with a sigh.

"I probably deserved that. But you can't be serious about changing the plan, ladies. We'll be lucky to get out of the Temple with our skins as it is."

"We'll figure it out," said Emma, already headed for the door.

They crept down the stairs, Rhys helping Ruby with the basket due to the added weight. The next floor down consisted of a semi-circular corridor lined with cells. They followed it to the end, where a familiar, sparkly face grinned ferally at them from behind steel bars.

"Hello, dearies."

"Rumple."

"Good to see you too, Regina. Miss Swan, I thought you must still be alive. He asked me a lot of questions about the Savior, yes, he did indeed."

"He?"

"Brother Vakyr, of course," he replied, with a shrill giggle that made Emma suddenly doubtful about having chosen this course of action.

"Where are the keys?" she said, wanting to get this over with. Henry would never forgive her if she left his grandfather to rot for eternity in an Asgardian prison.

"There is no key, Miss Swan."

She looked more closely at the door, and saw that there was no lock. With a premonition that this mission might be on the verge of going sideways, she reached out and tugged the door open. Rumple continued to stand within the cell.

"Am I missing something?" she asked, confused.

"If you want to stay here, Rumps, feel free," snarked Regina, turning to go.

Rumple held up his arm, which was encircled with an onyx cuff.

"I would be only too delighted to leave, General, but the Asgardians have many kinds of locks."

"A cuff that blocks magic, I assume. Can it be removed without magic?"

"Yes," he said. "Only the wearer cannot touch it, but anyone else may."

Emma reached out tentatively. The cuff was warm to the touch. It hummed beneath her fingertips with a subtle malevolence, as if it were welcoming her. She shuddered with revulsion, and slipped it from his arm with a sharp yank. She tossed it to the ground and rubbed her fingers agains her hip. Touching it had not been pleasant.

"Thank you, dearie," crooned Rumple. "Now, I suggest you clear out. I'll give you five minutes."

"Rumple," said Regina warningly, "what are you going to do?"

"Brother Vakyr and I have unfinished business."

"No! You have to give us a chance to get Henry out of here, please! We have a plan. Just give us time!"

"Time?!" spat Rumple. "Time?! I have waited years in that cell. I've spent all of them thinking of one thing, and one thing only, which is the ways in which Brother Vakyr will suffer. Four minutes remaining, Regina. Best you run along now!"

Rumple was spitting the words venomously and cackling madly. He looked utterly, completely demented. Henry had been right about that much: whatever this Vakyr had done to him, he'd lost his sanity. He giggled and disappeared in a swirl of black smoke. They ran.

They'd just made it to the bottommost stair when a deep gong resounded from somewhere deep beneath them. It vibrated the very stones. While they paused in shock, the gong rang again.

"Did he trigger some kind of alarm?!"

"Damn it, Rumple!" growled Regina.

They burst out of the door, to find the lone guard staring in shock upward toward one of the adjacent towers. A portion of the white stone blew outward as they watched, showering the ground with rubble. They dove for cover inside the tower.

"What the hell is going on?" asked the guard, dazed. "That's Brother Vakyr's private wing."

Another look outside revealed chaos. The entire Temple was now awake and panicked figures in gray robes swarmed the grounds. The damaged tower was engulfed by fire and belching black smoke into the sky. Two figures suddenly tumbled out of the scarred opening, struggling with one another in mid-air. They disappeared in a swirl of black smoke, and reappeared standing on the stones of the courtyard mere yards from where Emma and the others crouched. Rumple slashed with a blade of fire at the man in gray robes, who blocked it with a powerful shield summoned from nothing. It rebounded the energy of the blow back toward Rumple, who disappeared in another billow of smoke. The man roared with rage and followed suit, blinking out of the courtyard. Another gong sounded, shaking the compound. Shouts rose around them, as some of the Brothers gifted with water abilities summoned fountains of it to smother the flames.

"That-that was prisoner 23, the immortal," said the guard faintly, turning toward them with dawning realization. Rhys smacked him in the back of the head with his scabbard, and the man fell over senseless. They drug him back into the tower and shut the door firmly.

"Come on, we can take advantage of this chaos," he said, hefting the basket containing Henry on his back. He trotted in the direction of the main entrance by which they had come. In the flood of Brothers and Acolytes headed for the source of the destruction, they were fighting an upstream battle.

"I heard that one of the prisoners escaped!" yelled one man to another as they sprinted past.

Emma's heart was hammering. They only had a short distance to go, and then they would be at the carriage.

"I command you all to halt in Odin's name!" boomed a deep voice, amplified magically to fill the courtyard. All action around them ceased as though a switch had been thrown. Emma halted uncertainly, as did the others. She was afraid to turn around, but forced herself to, making sure to keep her hood drawn down.

"Brother Vakyr, what's going on?" demanded one of the Brothers.

"I was attacked in my quarters by an escaped prisoner, a magic wielder. He could not have done this alone. We have conspirators among us."

Emma turned until she could make out the man who spoke. It was the man who Rumple had fought with. He was a large man with a commanding presence, despite being covered in blood and breathing hard from battle. His youth surprised her. He couldn't be that much older than Henry. His head was completely shaved in the manner of all the Brothers. He might have been a handsome man, except for the cold glitter of his eyes that gave him a predatory look. What had happened to Rumple?

"No hoods! Check every face around you. If you find a stranger, do not hesitate. Subdue them and bring them to me. Do it now!" he roared, and stormed off toward the North Tower. Emma was shaking. Once he got there, he'd realize that Rumple wasn't the only escaped prisoner. They'd be looking for Henry. She weighed their options, and none of them were good. They only had one chance, and that was to create a distraction that would allow them to escape before they could be discovered.

"If I'm not back to the Golden Cup by morning, leave without me," she said quietly, already walking back toward the North Tower.

"Swan, whatever you're thinking, just forget it!" hissed Regina.

"Take care of Henry. Tell my family I love them. Go!"

She turned on her heel and ran in the direction Vakyr had gone. She counted to ten before she summoned magic. It was the first time she'd touched it since coming to Asgard, and it flooded her like she'd dipped her toe into the surface of the sun. It scorched her, and she knew she had to release the energy somehow. She summoned fire, since that always came easiest to her, and knelt, placing her palms against cool white marble. The fountain in the center of the courtyard evaporated into mist. She was vaguely aware of the stone melting around her. There was screaming, a lot of it. Stone split and crackled as it melted. She became the beating heart within a maelstrom of fire, and with every breath she summoned more magic. She would melt Asagarth into the dirt, and her family would finally be safe. Magic scoured her, burned her from the inside out. A remote sense of danger had begun to needle her, but she ignored it, pulling more and more magic through her veins. Suddenly she felt the urgency of the warning and realized she was burning herself out. She pulled away from the magic, or tried to, but it was as though she were caught in a river with powerful undertows she hadn't suspected, and it rushed her along. With supreme effort, she drug herself out of the rapids, and collapsed, panting. She realized suddenly that she was naked, her robes having long since burned to ash, and she lay atop a cooling slab of molten glass that had recently been the Temple courtyard.

Someone roughly turned her over, and a man's face filled her vision. It was, as she had feared, Vakyr. He watched her curiously, as though he'd just caught an exotic bird, and was debating whether to cage or mount it to the wall. With a predatory smile, he slid something onto her wrist. She felt magic disappear almost completely from her perception, as though a curtain had come down and blocked out the light. She knew, with dread, what he had just done. With monumental effort, she moved her hand, wanting desperately to take off the obsidian cuff that she had freed Rumple from. It chafed against her skin like malevolent sandpaper. A pain like nothing she'd ever felt cleaved her head in two, and she stopped trying to take it off. He smiled and patted her head.

"You learn fast, pretty bird. Good."

He gestured to someone, and she felt herself being lifted.

"Take her to the chamber. I will be there shortly. Continue searching the Temple and bring the other interlopers to me."

Emma sagged in the arms of her captors. They half dragged, half carried her toward the North Tower. As they went, she surveyed the destruction she had caused, and had to admit that she was impressed with herself. The courtyard was reduced to rubble. She'd fully collapsed the tower that had contained Vakyr's quarters. There were dozens of smoking corpses crumpled on the ground, in varying degrees of extra-crispy. Exhausted tears left cool tracks down her cheeks. She just hoped this had bought Regina and the others the time they needed to get Henry out.


	6. Merlin's Cottage

Wingbeats faded away into the darkness above them. Elsa listened until only the chirp of crickets and rustling trees remained. Arthur touched her arm lightly, and she followed him out of the clearing and into the cool dampness of the forest. Toothless would return for them here in a few hours time, so they could return to the ship under cover of darkness. She knew they were somewhere to the south of Camelot, but they'd stayed well away from the castle. Arthur said their destination was nearby, if it still existed. They walked for some time, tripping frequently in the dark. Her burns from the battle at Dunbroch were still fresh, and the blisters threatened to burst with each step. She didn't dare summon ice to soothe them though, so she gritted her teeth and walked on.

At one point, a downed tree blocked their path. Arthur scaled it nimbly, despite his own bandaged burns. He'd saved her life yesterday at Dunbroch, when the Asgardian sent a fireball right at her. He'd pushed her to the ground, shielding her body with his own. She admired his lithe form as he climbed, the blue doublet clinging to his muscled shoulders. She'd vowed to keep him at a distance, but it was damned difficult, especially considering they were the only two people that could take on this mission at the moment. Camelot needed to be scouted, and most of their companions were injured, exhausted or too conspicuous for reconnaissance. She and Arthur were the obvious choices, despite the awkwardness between them, so here they were.

Arthur perched easily atop the trunk and reached down a hand for her. She hesitated a moment, but took it. His palm was warm and solid against her own in a way that made her whole body shiver. When he pulled her up smoothly to stand beside him, they were so close together her breasts brushed lightly against his chest. She wobbled with surprise and tried to lean away, but his hands slid to her hips to steady her, where they stayed. She righted herself and pulled back from his touch, regretfully. Arthur exhaled heavily, but said nothing.

They hopped back down to the path and hurried on. They'd done a lot of that recently: avoiding conversation. A wedge had been driven between them ever since Elsa's trial at Soria Moria. She knew she was being unfair, but that nightmare had fostered a distrust of him she couldn't shake no matter how hard she tried. It had tainted everything between them, and she had no idea if things could be fixed. She sighed. Such had been the endless loop of misery in her mind for the last several months. At least they would be going to Arendelle next. If she could just find Anna, confide in her, then things would be better, somehow.

Another hour passed, and she was about to ask Arthur if he was lost, when a warm light flickered nearby. They approached cautiously, creeping as best they could through the brambles. As Arthur had promised, a humble thatch-roofed cottage was nestled cozily amidst the tangle of trees, smoke curling cheerily from the chimney. Candlelight glowed from the single lopsided window. Arthur was smiling as he tugged her after him. They had just reached the front door when it swung open on creaky hinges.

"Come in! Come in, boy! Don't let all the warmth out!"

Arthur grinned and dragged Elsa over the threshold. An odd, but charming, jumble of furniture and objects filled the tiny room. A smiling old man in flowing blue robes gazed at them placidly, a pair of silver spectacles perched crookedly on his nose. He sported an impressively abundant gray beard and a conical blue hat.

"You were wrong about the time, Merlin. He's an hour late!"

Elsa was startled. She studied the room carefully for the source of this cranky pronouncement, but saw only a plump brown owl perched on a wooden post. It surveyed them with disdainful yellow eyes and ruffled its feathers indignantly.

"Now, now, Archimedes, our guests have come a long way. Promptness can hardly be expected of travelers arriving from distant realms, you know."

"Hmph," huffed the owl, turning his beak up at them. Elsa, who had met talking snowmen in her time, was not exactly stunned to realize the bird had been speaking, but it was a trifle strange nonetheless. Arthur was watching her reaction with amusement. Obviously, he was familiar with the talking owl. She recovered herself and smiled graciously.

"Apologies for our tardiness," she said, with a small curtsy first to the bird, who acknowledged it with a dignified nod, and a second for the wizard. "You must be Merlin."

"None other, young lady. And perhaps, if my charge has not completely forgotten his manners in the last five years, he will tell me who you are?"

"Illustrious Merlin, Wizard of Camelot, please allow me to introduce Queen Elsa of Arendelle," said Arthur, with a warm smile and an overly ornate bow.

The wizard quirked a bushy silver eyebrow, and his sharp gaze swiveled between herself and Arthur as though trying to work something out. She got the impression that he saw things very deeply, and her cheeks warmed.

"A Queen, eh? I suppose I should have used the good china, then," he replied with a dry chuckle. He rose nimbly from his chintz armchair and approached Arthur with arms thrown wide.

"It is good to see you, old friend," said Arthur, striding forward to embrace the thin wizard. "I had feared the worst."

"I knew you would return eventually, my boy. I must confess it does this poor old man's heart good to see you safe. And it appears you have not suffered for delightful company on your travels, I daresay."

When Merlin turned to her, tears twinkled in his pale blue eyes. He took her hand in his own warm, papery ones. A gentle surge of magic swept through her, but she wasn't alarmed. Something about the gentle old mage made her feel she could trust him. His eyes widened with surprise and he leaned in closely, as though trying to peer into her very soul. Whatever he found must have perplexed him, for he shook his grizzled head, looking mystified.

"Nilfheim! Well, well, your beautiful companion is simply full of surprises, Arthur."

She winked at him, and was gratified when he chuckled and pulled out one of the mismatched chairs for her. She sank into it gratefully, stretching her stiffening burnt legs into a more comfortable position. The table had been laid with three places as though he'd been expecting them. Before she could ask how he'd known they would arrive, the battered teapot distracted her by rising into the air of its own accord and pouring a measure of fragrant tea into her cup. It was followed closely by the sugar dish, which trotted over, doffed its chipped lid as though it were a hat, and raised its spoon quizzically. She laughed.

"One scoop, if you please," she said to it. The dish delivered a perfect dash of sugar, for which she thanked it. Seeming very pleased with itself, it headed next for Arthur's cup.

"Tell us, Merlin, how fares Camelot?" asked Arthur.

The wizard's face darkened, and he took a bite of cookie with violence.

"Can I assume you have learned about Asgard in your travels?" he replied, crumbs dribbling into his beard.

Elsa and Arthur exchanged grim looks.

"Yes, we've some experience," said Arthur, "none of it good."

Merlin nodded. "I suspected as much. You have the look of a man who has fought many battles since I saw you last. I will want to hear of your adventures, lad, but for now I will tell you of what has befallen your kingdom in your absence."

"He did not leave by choice," interrupted Elsa, a trifle defensively. Merlin swiveled his penetrating gaze to her.

"I know, my dear," he responded tiredly. "Long have I awaited the winds of war. Even before this young man's birth, I foresaw chaos on the horizon. And so it came to Camelot, but not in the way I expected it to. In the end, this kingdom fell to the Asgardians by treachery."

Arthur set his teacup down hard, sloshing some of its contents onto the tablecloth.

"Who?"

"I'm sure you can guess, unless your wits have dulled since I last saw you."

Elsa's teacup rattled as she whispered the answer.

" _Morgana._ "

Merlin studied her with deepening interest, and she shifted uncomfortably beneath his scrutiny. She had no desire to relive her trial by telling him of it. They sat in silence for a long, uncomfortable moment.

"Arendelle is a far journey by sea," said Merlin. "It is so far, in fact, that almost no one in Camelot knows of its existence. Yet when you say Morgana's name, it is with the pain of one who has suffered at her hands. How can this be?"

Elsa studied the leaves that clung to the bottom of the cup as though they might supply the answer for her.

"We endured a peculiar type of trial when we quested for Soria Moria," explained Arthur, sparing her. "Morgana featured prominently in both of our…hallucinations. Elsa's trial was particularly wretched. She suffered much."

"And, therefore, so have you," murmured Merlin astutely, causing Arthur's cheeks to color. He blew his mustaches out with a sigh. "I was aware that Soria Moria had fallen, or at least I suspected as much. I have long had a correspondence with the keeper of that place, and her last missive was some months ago, warning that the portents of the prophecy were being fulfilled."

"You corresponded with _Vandene_?" asked Elsa, astonished.

"Oh yes, for three or four centuries now," replied Merlin, waving his hand. "I have long had contacts within the Order of Uglé. Their knowledge of history is unparalleled, and of course one cannot acquire an owl as a familiar without their assistance."

Archimedes fluttered his wings angrily, hopping inside his little wooden house. His voice echoed with offended dignity from within.

" _Acquired_ , Merlin? I was not _acquired_! I am not a…a broomstick, or a wheel of cheese, or…or…a new hat! Acquired indeed! Hmph!"

"Three or four…centuries?" asked Elsa, faintly. Surely, she had misheard. "Are you…immortal?"

Merlin had just taken a sip of tea, which he snorted out his nose. Archimedes hooted with amusement. The wizard glared at the owl's house as he sopped up tea with his beard.

"No, er, I'm just very long-lived, my dear. It was the unintended result of a curse that was cast upon me during the Long War."

Elsa's mouth dropped open, and she swiveled to Arthur, intending to demand why he hadn't told her this, only to find that he too was gaping at the wizard in shock.

"The Long War? The one with Asgard? You were THERE?" gasped Arthur, his voice climbing with each syllable. "I knew you were old, but…"

"But that was a thousand years ago!" sputtered Elsa, equally astonished.

"Yes," sighed Merlin heavily, "and I am finally beginning to feel my age, I'm afraid. I was a young man when I left my Guild in Asagarth, and now…"

"And now you're as wrinkled as a buzzard's backside!" cackled Archimedes.

Arthur's eyes were wide as saucers.

"Wait, what do you mean when you LEFT Asgard? Why were you in Asgard?"

Merlin removed his tea-spattered spectacles and absent-mindedly polished them on his robe.

"I was in Asgard," he replied slowly, "because that is where I was born."

Silence ensued for a long moment, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire.

"You…you're…Asgardian?"

"I was born in a small fishing village near Tarth, which is a three day ride north from Asagarth," replied the old man, fondly. "My father was a fisherman and my mother a seamstress. She'd left her band of Xoraxai to marry him, it was quite a scandal."

"Xoraxai?"

He started, as if just remembering they were there.

"Not important," he said, waving his beard at them, "suffice it to say, it was a long time ago. I've not been to Asgard since the Crossings were closed, of course."

"Of course," said Arthur faintly, still looking poleaxed to discover his longtime friend and mentor was, in fact, from another world.

"But why did you stay here?" asked Elsa.

"Oh, I quite liked the human worlds. There was also the bit I mentioned about the curse. I made many enemies during the war. This realm seemed to be the safest place for me, once the worlds went their separate ways. Besides, it was foretold that I would be useful here someday," he added, with a meaningful nod at Arthur, who threw up his hands, clearly exasperated.

"I can't believe you're Asgardian. And that you never told me!"

"My boy, would you have believed me if I had? As for being Asgardian, surely you're not going to hold that against me?"

The wizard was smiling kindly, but Elsa sensed real worry behind his words.

"I don't know what to think, Merlin! I mean, I knew you weren't exactly a normal man, but…Asgard? They've destroyed our lives! Our friends' lives!"

"I abandoned that world centuries ago. I chose to stay here. I chose to wait for a boy I knew would be born, who would be important to the battles ahead. All the worlds hang in the balance, Arthur," he said, wearily. "As for being from somewhere other than Camelot, if you don't hold it against your sword, then please don't hold it against a well-meaning old man."

"The elves told us that Excalibur was forged in Svartalfheim. It's true then?"

"You've met the elves? Splendid! Absolutely splendid! Are they preparing for what is to come?"

"Yes, they were when we left Alfheimr."

"Alfheimr?! Marvelous! You traveled by the Crossings, I presume?"

"For that leg of the journey, yes. Moriah has transported us by portal since then."

The next hour was devoted to telling Merlin their tale. When they were done, he unearthed a dusty bottle from a cupboard and poured a measure of brandy into their teacups, and a double dose for himself.

"The child has been found then," muttered Merlin as he took a sip of the liquor, "which means that events are moving quickly."

"Brandy always gives you the trots, Merlin!" warned Archimedes, from the shadows of his birdhouse.

Merlin paused in his sipping and blew a raspberry at the owl. Elsa giggled, feeling the effects of the brandy keenly, and leaned forward to have her teacup refilled. She hissed at the pain as her sudden movement aggravated her blisters. Some of them must've ruptured, by the feel of things. The thought of walking back through through the forest for hours made her groan, and she took another swig of brandy.

"What is it, my dear?" asked Merlin, with concern.

"We were burned in yesterday's battle," replied Arthur. He knelt at her chair to check her leg wound, which was indeed seeping through the bandages. Her head was spinning a little, and she allowed herself to enjoy Arthur's touch on her thigh, without overthinking it too much.

"Well, why on earth didn't you say so? Burns, you say? Magical fire?" asked Merlin, rummaging through another cupboard. He emerged with a handful of dusty bottles, whose contents he proceeded to dump into a cauldron suspended over the fire. A pungent smell like burnt apricots permeated the cottage. He ladled a small portion into each of their cups of brandy. Elsa waited for Arthur to try it first, just in case. He swigged the whole thing down, grimacing at the taste. He shot to his feet as purple steam blew out both ears and his nose. His face turned an alarming shade of scarlet, then green, followed by brilliant blue spots. Elsa watched with horror, unsure what to do. Arthur clasped his throat, sucking in a tremendous deep breath, and began coughing. His color slowly returned to normal. Eyes streaming, he unwrapped the bandages on his arms, and Elsa was astonished to see the burns had disappeared completely. She eyed her teacup warily, not sure it was worth it.

"I think I'd rather have the burns," she said at last, pushing it away.

"Well, if you'd rather try it without the side effects, I suggest you skip the brandy," said Merlin with a wink, offering her the ladle. She took a sip of the sweet liquid, which went down her throat like warm honey. She felt a friendly glow race along her veins, then the startling absence of pain as the burns disappeared. She unwrapped the bandage on her thigh, and ran a wondering hand over the smooth skin.

"You could've warned me!" Arthur croaked to Merlin. The old man's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"I didn't realize the brandy would have that effect. Remarkable!"

"Merlin, do you have any potions that could help our friend, Merida? She was injured badly by a Sentinel," asked Elsa.

"I can certainly try, though my healing is most effective with magically induced injuries. Is she aboard this Jolly Roger you mentioned?"

"Yes, but first, Merlin, you must tell me more of Camelot," begged Arthur. "What is the situation there?"

Merlin began gathering items into a threadbare satchel as he spoke. Elsa watched with amazement as he shoved an entire ten volume set of books inside, which should have been impossible given the size of the bag. He answered Arthur as he continued to place an unlikely quantity of large items into the too-small bag.

"On the one-year anniversary of your disappearance, Morgana strode into the throne room as if she were already queen. She proclaimed that you had abandoned your people, and that she had come to take the throne, as was her blood right. I protested, as did your knights. The kingdom was running as smoothly as could be expected, and I had surmised that you would return eventually. But I had underestimated her, to my cost. She'd been maneuvering quietly among the nobility for nearly a year, garnering support for her new regime. The coup was short, and nearly bloodless. Lancelot and a handful of your most loyal knights were imprisoned. I, to my eternal shame, was forced to flee. She had a dozen Asgardians with her, all Battle Guild."

"My knight are imprisoned?" growled Arthur.

"Yes, they remain in the dungeon. Four years have passed since that day, yet none have given in and denounced you, which was the condition Morgana set for their release. She keeps them alive as examples, I believe. If the reports I receive from my spies are accurate."

"You have spies within Camelot?"

"This old man does still have some life left in him, you know," replied the mage with a touch of asperity, as he rifled through another dusty shelf.

"But I thought you said Asgard had taken over Camelot?" asked Elsa.

"They did, through alliance with Morgana. I understand they have conquered many realms with open warfare and destruction, but such was not their strategy with Arthur's land. I believe they saw an opportunity here which they could exploit. By partnering with someone who had a claim to the throne, they had a means of ruling this kingdom without much bloodshed or effort. They siphon off food, weapons, and any children with a hint of magical ability. In short, this land is a bountiful supplier of raw goods needed for their war effort. Morgana, in return, gets what she has always wanted: to rule Camelot."

"I should've executed her when I had the chance," whispered Arthur, putting his head in his hands. Elsa quietly agreed.

"Now, now, lad. No point moaning about what could've been. You were hesitant to execute a young woman for her ambitions. No one, not even I, foresaw the ill that she would someday bring to this land."

"How fare my people?"

"It is a grim time, I'm afraid. They submit to Morgana's rule, out of fear and a lack of a better alternative to fight for. Now that you are returned, my boy, I have hope the tide may be turned against her. But she has the backing of Asgard, and that is nothing to sneer at. The Battle Guild has mostly left, but she has many Sentinels and soldiers at her command."

"I must free my friends," said Arthur, quietly. His fists were clenched in his lap. Elsa longed to comfort him, but held herself in check.

"In due time, Arthur. For now, I think it's time I met your new friends. Shall we?"

They departed, Merlin banking the fire and locking the cottage behind him with a snap of his fingers. The humble hut seemed to disappear into the forest as they walked away, until Elsa would've been hard-pressed to see it at all. They headed back to the clearing where Toothless awaited them, making much better time since the roots and plants of the forest retreated at Merlin's approach to make way for them, and their burns no longer troubled them. At catching sight of the dragon, Merlin went into paroxysms of delight.

"A Night Fury! I haven't ever seen one outside of books. So very rare!" marveled Merlin, running his hand over the glossy black scales with reverence.

He made a big fuss examining the dragon's anatomy, and Toothless preened proudly beneath his effusive compliments. Elsa puzzled over how they would fit Merlin onto the dragon in addition to themselves, but soon realized she needn't have worried. The wizard pulled a long broomstick from his satchel, a maneuver which confounded the eye. With a smart rap of his wand, it hovered in midair, and Merlin hopped aboard, sidesaddle, and shifted himself until he was comfortably settled. Archimedes winged down and landed on his shoulder. They zoomed upward, the owl squawking in alarm, and hovered, waiting for Toothless to join them. Elsa settled in front of Arthur, the warmth of the brandy still softening her bones. She relaxed against his chest and felt his heart beating reassuringly against her shoulder blade. For the briefest moment, as they alighted and were thrown tightly together by the momentum of flight, Arthur pressed his face just behind her ear and inhaled, nuzzling her neck with his lips and sending a shiver down her spine. They set off toward the Jolly Roger, the wizard on his broomstick easily pacing the dragon. Elsa closed her eyes and savored every wingbeat, content in Arthur's arms.


	7. Ond-Praell

Emma fought it, but the pain yanked her pitilessly from the thin shelter of sleep. A hazy fever dream leached away like a wave from sand, leaving her beached in the same dismal place she'd passed out in. She tried to guess if it was her second night here, or third, and gave up. Her mind was muddied and slow. Must be the dehydration, she thought. Or the blood loss.

She catalogued a dozen small hurts: a wobbly tooth, cracked lips, both eyes puffy and so swollen they would barely open. Her left ankle throbbed severely enough it might be broken. She wouldn't try kicking the bastard again. In her delirium, she was momentarily grateful that her weight was off the ankle, but then reminded herself that it was only thanks to the hooks embedded deeply between her shoulder blades, which suspended her from the ceiling. But even that was a drop in the ocean compared to the agony of the flayed skin on her back. He'd begun at her neck and worked his way methodically downward over the course of that first day, using a golden talon strapped to his hand.

Ruby had told her that the Asgardians used magic to get information out of people bloodlessly, and explained about the pain and pleasure discs that Rhys had used on her. But from what Emma had been through so far, they were still fans of good old-fashioned medieval torture. And Brother Vakyr was an expert. He hadn't even asked her anything for the first few hours. Just hummed to himself as he carved, occasionally stepping back to admire his handiwork.

Someone must've scrubbed the floor down while she slept, for it gleamed shockingly white in the moonlight, as though to contradict her memories of seeing her own blood splattered all over it. Her body looked pretty clean too. Vakyr probably wanted a fresh canvas to start from in the morning, she thought darkly. She was alone. Just as they'd had no one guarding Henry, they were apparently still confident enough in their security that no guards were posted in the room with her. Maybe there was one outside the door, though. Not that she'd be able to test that theory. She'd learned quickly that certain explicit orders from Vakyr couldn't be disobeyed, thanks to the obsidian cuff on her wrist. Aside from blocking access to magic, it had a degree of control over her physical body. When Vakyr ordered her to hold still, or stay somewhere, she had found it impossible to disobey. The helplessness pissed her off more than anything else.

She distracted herself by thinking of Henry. He was free and on his way back to the Enchanted Forest. Regina and the others must've gotten him out of the city, since Vakyr's questions had revealed he was still looking for them. She smiled a little, and winced at the cracking of her lips. At least her sacrifice had gotten her boy out of this hellhole.

Killian and Moriah…she tried to keep her thoughts from drifting to them, because picturing their faces threatened to overwhelm her with despair. She closed her burning eyes and tried to imagine them on the Jolly Roger. They'd be in Berk, or maybe Dunbroch by now. She hoped their friends had found their families, and that they were raising the army that Regina needed to kick Asgard's ass. Once she got herself out of this place, she was sure as hell going to help with that effort. She took a deep breath, reaching for magic. She encountered the invisible wall that the obsidian cuff had erected around her, but she could sense magic's muffled presence, as if it were sunlight peeking from behind a heavy curtain. If she could just break through…

The door opened with a malevolent creak that made her convulse with dread. She bit down on a scream as the hooks in her back tugged at her muscles. Slow, familiar footsteps approached, accompanied by a dim lantern glow. Her heart galloped in her chest. She forced herself to hold her head up defiantly, hating the tremor in her muscles that betrayed her fear.

Vakyr was studying her, cool and impassive as a statue. He snapped his fingers, and a figure darted from the shadows and placed a small table between them. It held a golden bowl and a number of vials. The acolyte was young, and his trembling movements betrayed his nervousness. He backed away rapidly, gaze lowered, and closed the door behind him as he left. Sweat began beading on Emma's brow, trickling into the open wounds on her back and making them sting anew. Vakyr's hard voice broke the silence, and she shuddered.

"Were you simply following the orders of that one-eyed witch? or did the boy mean something to you personally?"

He was picking up where they had left off. Emma said nothing, but he seemed to have expected this.

"The latter I think," he said, walking around her in a slow circle, pausing to scrutinize her back. She shivered with revulsion as his fingertips skimmed her burning flesh. His touch was a perverse caress, tracing the wounds he'd inflicted. If Emma had had the saliva to do it, she would've spit in his face. He seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts, and smirked as he unstoppered the vials and poured their contents into the bowl. The scent of herbs and something acrid like gunpowder filled the room.

"You must have some connection to the boy. A friend? A lover? One does not venture into the enemy's stronghold to rescue just anyone. Your brother perhaps? I see a faint resemblance, but he did not mention a sister when I questioned him. He told me much about his mother, the General," he smiled, "and about the operations of your pathetic little resistance. But you? You are a mystery. A mystery which melted half my temple and took many good brothers from Odin's service."

Emma smiled with satisfaction. She'd gone down fighting, at least. She also felt a surge of pride in her son. Henry was a tough kid. He'd held some things back.

"You have far more strength than most, to resist my Questioning so thoroughly," he said quietly. "Not even a name have I obtained from you after two days in my chamber. Extraordinary. Strong in magic, strong in will…I wonder, have you something of the Diviner in you? Many do not believe they existed, but I've come to have faith in the ancient stories. It is said there were those touched by the Gods whose minds were so strong of will that they were impervious to the influence of others. They could always tell truth from lies, and could not be compelled by any means, even the most terrible violence," he continued. He was busy adding ingredients to the bowl, and missed her small startled intake of breath. How could he know about her special ability?

"Yes, perhaps that would explain how you are able to defeat my usual methods. In any case, another tactic must be tried, no matter how controversial," he murmured, lifting the bowl. He began to hum, and then chanted a low progression of words she didn't understand but which ground against her eardrums like rocks. The wounds on her back began to warm, and then burn. Silent tears trickled down her cheeks. His voice rose in a crescendo, followed by a popping rush of flames that licked over her skin. The lines he had carved on her back seared in a brilliant flash, and she could smell the flesh burning. Her body arched in a paroxysm of agony and then she hung limp, blinking dazedly with shock. The heat disappeared as quickly as it had come, and her back felt taut and tender, as if new skin had knitted over the wounds. What had he done to her?

She was unaware of being lifted until her feet touched the cold marble, and whatever magic had been supporting her disappeared. Her ankle gave way with a sickening crunch, sending her to the floor in a crumpled heap. Vakyr snorted, and what was strange was that she felt his disgust as though it were her own. She froze. His low chuckle echoed in the room, and again, she experienced a surge of emotion, this time delight, that wasn't hers.

"What did you do to me?" she rasped with horror, her voice unrecognizable to herself.

"Ah, she speaks! Already, we are making progress" he said, clapping his hands together sharply. The acolyte that had been waiting outside entered the room and bowed.

"Take her to my new quarters, bathe her, and have one of the healers see to her injuries. She is to be be fed and made to sleep until this evening's conclave."

The acolyte bowed again and bent to lift Emma in his arms. She struggled feebly and tried to stand, broken ankle be damned.

"Stop fighting," said Vakyr, angry with her. She felt a lurch of nausea and vertigo. She didn't want to displease him. She stopped struggling and relaxed into the acolyte's arms with a sigh as the nausea disappeared, replaced by the warm glow of Vakyr's approval.

"Much better. You will find that obeying me will soon become your heart's only desire."

Emma began to nod with meek compliance, then caught herself. She stiffened in sudden understanding, and fury. She could feel his will pressing in on her, and it took all her focus to repel him. He chuckled again.

"You cannot fight this curse, no matter how strong your mind may be. In the stories, the Ond-Praell was the only means of controlling those touched by the Diviner. Eventually, you will do whatever you can to please me. Now, tell me your name."

Her tongue wanted to betray her, but she knew that even giving him an inch of ground would be her undoing. Heartbeats passed like hours as she fought to maintain control, clenching her teeth to contain the words that threatened to tumble out. His impatience, his anger, impacted her mind with a force like floodwater breaching a dam. She curled against the Acolyte's chest, shaking.

"Your name! Speak!" he roared. He just wanted to hear her name, such a small thing. Surely she could give him that…it was nothing, really. It would end the nausea and misery that was the punishment for her defiance. But some steely part of her held firm, and she said nothing. She sobbed while Vakyr's fury yowled in her head like an air raid siren.

"Leave, now," he growled to the acolyte, who hurried out of the tower, Emma sobbing quietly into his robes.

0000000

Acolyte Mekri left the mysterious woman sleeping in a cot by the fireplace in Brother Vakyr's new quarters. His robes were still damp with her tears. She'd been mended by the healers and collapsed into unconsciousness with the help of a sleeping potion. Once the bruising melted away, the face that was revealed was very beautiful, though older than him by a decade at least. He himself had only seventeen years, and had spent just the last four here in the Temple. He was one of the oldest acolytes, and still far from full brotherhood. His family had managed to keep his magical talents hidden from the Order for more than a decade, so he'd been brought here much later than most of the boys. He sighed heavily. It was nearly harvest time, and what remained of his family would be scything the wheat fields soon, without his help. His father had paid the highest price for attempting to conceal his son from the Order. The Brothers were not merciful to those who disobeyed. His mother was left a widow, and her son taken from her. Mekri said a silent prayer that the village would help her with the fields so that she and Mia would not starve this winter. His little sister would be fifteen now, nearly a woman. Would she even recognize him, with his head shaved and the gray robes of the hated Order hanging from his newly tall frame? Becoming a Brother was not what he had wanted, but one couldn't resist the Order for long. It always won. Which made the sleeping woman even more of a mystery. She had resisted Questioning for days without uttering a single word. It was unheard of. And now Vakyr had just done the unthinkable. He'd resorted to a forbidden curse.

Heading for the courtyard, he queasily contemplated what he'd just witnessed. Terrible things were done in Vakyr's tower, he knew. Necessary but ugly things, which supported their conquest of the lesser realms. But this was something else. This woman, whoever she was, had infiltrated the Temple itself. He stepped carefully through the melted remains of what had been the central courtyard up until a few days ago. He'd felt the heat of the blaze she'd conjured all the way from his dormitory tower. She was an enemy of Asgard, he knew, but nevertheless she did not deserve what had just been done to her.

"Acolyte, will you walk with me?"

The small, deeply wrinkled face of Brother Maiv had appeared at his shoulder. Mekri slowed his steps to match the elder man's.

"Of course," he replied, with a genuine smile. They struck down a side alley between buildings, which led to a small garden where they frequently met. Few outside knew it, but tiny, ancient Maiv was one of the most powerful members of the Order. He took a seat on an ornate marble bench by the fountain, and gestured Mekri to join him.

"You seem troubled, young Mekri. What has transpired this night that has disturbed you so? Something to do with our new prisoner, I assume."

There was a kindliness to the old man's manner that Mekri had always found reassuring, since it was a rare thing to find in the Temple. Coming to the Order late, and from an obstructionist family as he had, was not an easy thing. By his age, the other boys had long since formed factions and invisible lines of alliance that were difficult, if not impossible, for an outsider to assimilate into. Not to mention how far behind in magical training he had been. Maiv had seen his predicament, and become a mentor to him. With a powerful protector high in the Order, life at the Temple had since become much easier for Mekri, and he would do anything to repay him.

"She has resisted all forms of Questioning thus far."

Maiv nodded calmly. "I knew as much. I understand that tonight Brother Vakyr has tried a new tactic."

Mekri's mouth twisted in a grimace, and he nodded.

"So it is true then," murmured Maiv. "He has performed an Ond-Praell."

"Yes. It is an affront to the gods!"

"True, it is a forbidden curse. And for good reason. There has not been a soul-slave in Asgard since before the Long War. Odin himself forbade its use. Such an edict should not be broken lightly."

"She resisted the curse, though," said Mekri, unable to keep the admiration from his voice. "She hasn't even told him her name yet."

Maiv raised a grizzled eyebrow. "Indeed? Her force of will must truly be impressive. But no one can resist the power of an Ond-Praell for long, I'm afraid."

"I overheard Vakyr say she has the Diviner's gift," said Mekri, doubtfully. "That that's why she can withstand him."

"Divining is a child's tale," snorted Maiv, "Vakyr deludes himself in order to explain away his failure to break her. She is strong, undoubtedly, but a human touched by Nótt? Nonsense! He simply wishes to justify his use of the forbidden curse."

"I know she is the enemy, but I cannot pretend this does not disgust me."

"And I as well. We have long known that Vakyr will cross any line he must to gain power. But truly, it shows his panic, and therefore his error."

Mekri was was stunned by this blunt appraisal, but waited patiently for an explanation. Maiv wove his gnarled fingers together and watched the fish swimming in the depths of the fountain. His voice remained soft and measured, despite the weight of the words that followed.

"Our own Temple attacked. Two prisoners missing. A score of dead brothers at the foot of his own tower. Brother Vakyr has much to worry about, young Mekri. Many have come to doubt his leadership of late, and not just over this matter. To resort to such an extreme as he did with this woman tonight tells me much. His support among the Brothers wanes."

"But what about the Prophecy? He found the Wanderer! Surely he is destined to lead us into the new Age?"

Maiv apparently found this remark childish, and gave him a pitying look that implied as much. Mekri flushed with embarrassment. He'd long guessed that there were currents of politics swirling beneath the Order's seemingly united surface, but he'd thought that the power of the Prophecy overruled all such petty concerns. The Wanderer had come back to them as prophesied, after a thousand years, and Vakyr had been the one to discover him. So if even _he_ was vulnerable, that implied that the world was a far more unstable place than Mekri had imagined. It was disconcerting.

"Destiny is a funny thing. It is shaped, like everything else, by our perceptions of it. Within every prophecy, there is much left to interpretation. You mention the Wanderer, boy. Have you ever seen him?"

"No, the Wanderer is secreted for his protection until he is of age."

"Yes, and only Vakyr and a small circle of his trusted advisors safeguards his location. Yet word has come to us that the Wanderer has abandoned Vakyr's protection, and moves in the world without the influence of the Order to guide him. We fight a predestined war, but the god for whom we conquer worlds has vanished."

Mekri stared at the older man in blank shock. Maiv stroked his scraggly beard and continued to ponder the brightly colored fish. Technically, facial hair wasn't permitted in the Order, but such was Maiv's age and rank that no one objected. He continued in his soft voice.

"It seems the young incarnate wished to see the worlds, as is his eternal nature, and had little patience for Vakyr's notion of training. There are also rumors…"

"Rumors?"

Maiv glanced around sharply, but they were alone in the garden. Nonetheless, Mekri leaned in close to hear the older man's whisper.

"We've learned that Vakyr attempted to hasten the Wanderer's ascendancy, by bringing forth his memories. All of them. At once."

"All?" asked Mekri, faintly. The Wanderer had lived so many human lives, the memories of all of them must be overwhelming. He was, after all, incarnate in a human boy.

"Yes," nodded Maiv. "It apparently didn't go exactly as Vakyr had hoped. But then, not much is going his way these days."

"Isn't that a bad thing? For the Order, I mean?"

"I have long disagreed with Vakyr in the particulars of our role within the Prophecy, this is common knowledge. The war he wages on the realms could lead to the destruction of Asgard itself. I will not openly subvert him, but I cannot say I am displeased by his failures. He is digging his own grave, and I can only work to see that he does not drag the rest of us into it behind him. With your help, if you are willing."

"Me? How can I help?" asked Mekri, alarmed. It was the not the first he'd heard of a schism between his mentor and Vakyr, but he'd hardly imagined the depth of it. Or that the future of Asgard itself might be at stake. His blood froze at the thought of his mother and sister in danger.

"Report to me on how the woman fares. Assist her in small ways if you can, without attracting attention to yourself. Get her to trust you, if you can. Her continued resistance to Vakyr would be to our benefit. We must ensure the survival of the Order, and protect Asgard above all."

Mekri nodded, and rose to leave. He paused.

"What if she is touched with the Diviner's Gift? She'll distrust anything I say."

Mekri expected another derisive laugh, but the old man looked thoughtful as he pondered this. Finally, he spoke.

"There is an old Midgard saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. As much as she might distrust you, she will hate Vakyr even more."

Mekri returned to the barracks, turning this over in his mind. He was setting off on a dangerous path, but if his mentor was right, then Asgard itself was in peril. He imagined his sister, bundling sheafs of wheat in the quiet fields near their farmhouse. He would do whatever he had to do to protect his people, even if it meant helping this mysterious, dangerous woman.


	8. A Narrow Escape

"Rhys!" shrieked Ruby, panicking. She held her hands more firmly over Regina's chest. Blood was spurting thickly through her fingers. Rhys leaned over them, putting his own hands on the wound. Ruby wasn't sure what had happened. She and Rhys had climbed into the carriage with the basket containing an unconscious Henry. Regina had been right behind them, then suddenly there was a dagger sticking through her chest. Ruby had snarled and transformed, leaping on the two Acolytes who had followed them out of the Temple. When she was done ripping their throats out, she leapt back into the carriage and snapped at the petrified coachman to get them the hell out of there. Rhys had hauled Regina inside, and then they were galloping wildly through the streets. The ruckus inside the Temple had filled the streets with onlookers, so they had disappeared into the crowds. Now they just had to keep Regina alive.

Rhys had some skill with healing, she knew from experience. He passed his hand over the wound several times, until the blood slowed and, finally, stopped. Regina didn't regain consciousness, but her color slowly returned.

"Will she live?"

Rhys nodded tiredly, passing a bloody hand shakily over his face. It had been his life on the line too, if Regina had died with his heart in her chest. Then Ruby would've been stuck in Asgard with Henry, and no way to get back home. She shivered to realize what a close call they'd just had. She couldn't believe they'd even made it out of there. If it hadn't been for Emma…

Her stomach lurched. Her last glimpse of Emma had been her gray-clad form darting into the crowd. She'd already been summoning magic when Regina hustled them out of the courtyard, and the screams had followed them as they ran. Whatever distraction Emma had provided them, it had worked. She hoped Emma had somehow made it out afterward, but in her heart of hearts she knew better.

They clambered out of the carriage at the docks, as they'd planned in case things went badly. This way, they wouldn't lead the Order back to The Golden Cup. Rhys carried Regina and Ruby dragged the basket containing Henry. The coachman watched them go. Ruby knew they had to leave immediately. There were too many eyes who had seen their comings and goings. She hoped Jael wouldn't suffer too much from his association with them. Rhys reassured her that his uncle could take care of himself.

They boarded the small fishing vessel "Erumpent" and the taciturn captain pushed off without a word. Jael had made all the arrangements in advance, with a captain he apparently trusted. There were a few fisherman on the docks, but otherwise the peace and calm of the open water in the pre-dawn light was a shock to the senses after the night's events. Ruby slumped down next to Rhys. She didn't protest as he looped his arm over her shoulder, finding the weight comforting. She closed her eyes, drifting into exhausted sleep.

0000

Henry woke in the dark, which was not the main thing that troubled him. His muscles were screaming from the position he was contorted in, but he'd grown used to that kind of pain also. What bothered him was that he was so nauseated, he was about to throw up. It felt like he was stuck inside a washing machine. Though he was so weak he worried he couldn't stand, he nonetheless staggered upward, through what felt like a pile of clothing, and promptly fell over. He landed hard on a slick surface, and the smell of fish guts striking his nose had him retching immediately. Hands turned him over, and he had to squint against the intense sunshine.

"Henry!"

"R-ruby?" he asked, hoarsely. He couldn't make sense of what had happened. He had been hanging in the torture chamber, knowing he would die there. A memory surfaced of hearing his mom's voice. Both of them! He struggled to sit up, willing his blurry vision to focus. His legs were still stuck inside what appeared to be a…laundry basket?

"Mom?" he rasped, groping for the hand on his arm and gripping it tightly. Ruby's face resolved out of the blur, peering at him with concern.

"The General's unconscious," she replied. "Took a knife, but she's healing."

"But I thought…was Emma there too?"

Ruby looked exhausted, and worried. There was blood spattered on her face and neck.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she said, pulling him to his feet with the help of someone lifting him from behind. She gasped aloud upon seeing his back, which he knew was a bloody mess thanks to Vakyr. The world reeled, partially due to his dizziness but mostly due to the fact that they appeared to be on a small fishing boat in choppy seas. He felt better upon seeing the horizon, and took a deep breath of salty air. Then he realized who had been helping him up. The Asgardian was watching him warily. He tensed and raised his fists.

"Knock it off, Mills!" hissed Ruby. "He's helping us!"

Henry remained poised to fight. He had no idea what could've happened to make Ruby trust this man, but he was not about to make the same mistake. The large Asgardian eyed him suspiciously, but also looked like he was prepared to catch Henry if he fell over. Which Henry realized he was, in fact, very close to doing. With his body ruined the way it was, he knew he couldn't fight the man even if he wanted to. He resigned himself to wait until he was in a better state. Then, he would beat the crap out of the guy. He instead turned his energy to coolly assessing the situation, as his mother had taught him.

There were no other passengers aside from the grizzled captain helming the boat, who eyed him dispassionately as though additional passengers popped out of laundry baskets on his vessel with regularity. He puffed placidly on a pipe and returned to ignoring them. Ruby fetched a bucket of seawater to rinse him off. The cold was a shock, and the salt stung his wounds so that he had to bite back a shout, but the bracing water brought some clarity back to his thoughts. He drank deeply from a skin of freshwater, but had no stomach yet for the hard crackers Ruby tried to get him to eat.

"Regina?" he asked. Ruby pointed to the small berth below decks. Henry wobbled down the steep ladder, trying to find his sea legs. It had been five years since he'd set foot on a boat. A familiar form rested on the narrow bunk.

"Mom!" he said, kneeling at her side. Regina looked pale but peacefully asleep, despite the disturbing amount of blood soaking her gray robe. He encircled a wrist and was relieved to find a strong, steady pulse.

"Rhys saved her life," said Ruby, who had followed him.

"Rhys? We're on a first name basis with that asshole now?" croaked Henry, suddenly furious.

"That asshole helped us break you out of Asagarth," replied Ruby, hands on hips.

"Considering he's the one who put me there in the first place, you'll have to excuse me for not feeling too grateful!"

Ruby pursed her lips angrily but didn't reply. Henry snorted, knowing he was right.

"What did you have to do to convince him to help you, anyway? I'm sure it wasn't out of the kindness of his black Asgardian heart."

"Well, actually,the General took his heart-"

Henry barked a savage laugh. "And you wanted me to think he saved her life because he's such a good guy, huh?"

"Henry, he's changed-"

"I knew it. I just knew you had feelings for this guy, Ruby. It's screwed up, I don't get it, and I definitely don't want to hear any more about it."

Ruby held her tongue, but he could feel her anger. He knew he should be grateful to her for risking everything to save him. But right now he was too furious with her to care. And she wasn't telling him everything, either.

"I know Emma was there last night. Tell me, now."

"Henry-"

"Damn it, Ruby!"

"Fine! We were seconds away from getting caught taking you out of the Temple. She created a distraction so we could escape."

Henry' blood froze. He gaped at Ruby in horror.

"You left her behind?! With HIM?"

Ruby's beautiful eyes pleaded with him, but he was in no mood to be gentle.

"What have you done? You gave him the one thing he wanted!"

He roared in rage, pushing past Ruby and stalking back up the ladder to the deck before he did something stupid.

"What do you mean, the one thing he wanted? Emma? Who wanted her?"

"Vakyr!" roared Henry, causing Ruby to flinch. Rhys moved to stand between him and Ruby. Henry paced the deck, feeling close to violence.

"Vakyr wanted Emma?" she asked in a panic. "Why? How would he even know about her?"

"He didn't know about Emma, but he knew plenty about the Savior. He wanted information about her, and most especially about the child she would have. It took EVERYTHING I HAD, Ruby. Everything! To not tell that bastard Vakyr about her. About her little girl. And you just handed her right over to him!"

Henry turned away with another roar, chest heaving. He felt the wounds on his back popping open and weeping blood. He gripped the rails so hard the wood creaked. He stood breathing hard, trying to regain control. All he had been through, day after day having his skin ripped off, keeping his mouth shut despite the pain, and they had just handed Emma over to that sick son of a bitch.

"You should've left me there," he finally ground out through clenched teeth.

"Henry-" began Ruby softly. But the gentle tone of her voice just further enraged him. She'd allied herself with the Asgardian. He'd started them down this path in the first place, attacking the EF, seducing Ruby, capturing him and giving him over to Vakyr to torture. If it weren't for him, Emma would be safe with her daughter back in the EF. His fury built up until he was seething with it. He pushed himself back from the rail explosively, hurling himself at the Asgardian with a speed that seemed to catch the man off guard. His kick took the man in the ribs with a satisfying crack that sent him staggering back.

"This is your fault, you bastard! I'll kill you!" he snarled, rushing him again. Adrenaline had given him a momentary burst of speed, but his strength was fading fast and he lurched unsteadily. The last thing he saw was a fist headed for his face, and then the world disappeared into blackness.


	9. Of Mice and Men

Killian crept silently down the corridor on padded feet, listening hard for the guards. His hearing was a great deal keener in this form than his human one, but his eyesight was a fair bit worse. Which meant he didn't react quickly enough when the others came to a sudden stop, causing him to ran smack into Arthur's furry rump, the latter's tail whipping across his nose as they tumbled. Killian squeaked angrily, eyes watering, and shook the tiny hook attached incongruously to his left paw. He pondered again the mysteries of magic, which could transform him from man to mouse but still, somehow, left him short an appendage. Arthur, whose coat was a rich russet color, shrugged apologetically. The brown mouse beside him, Hic squeaked heartily in what must be a rodent form of laughter. Merlin turned to them with an impatient gesture for silence. Even in mouse form, the old wizard looked much like himself: bushy silver fur in abundance and a tiny pair of spectacles perched crookedly on his pink nose.

Footsteps were approaching. They flattened themselves against the wall. Two guards rounded the corner and loomed above them, so terrifying in size that Killian was reminded of his adventure with the giant atop the beanstalk with Emma. He held his breath, but they passed by without looking down. Merlin had been right about this disguise, at least. No one had thus far paid any attention to a few more mice running about Camelot. It didn't make Killian any happier about it, but at least the sacrifice of his dignity was proving successful. When Emma eventually heard about this, though, he'd never live it down.

Merlin set off again, hugging tight to the stone walls, and they followed suit. Killian had lost track of the number of turns they'd taken in the warren beneath the castle, but Merlin and Arthur seemed to know where they were headed. Torchlight flickered as they descended deeper. A rancid, musty smell met his nose, and he sneezed squeakily. The dungeons couldn't be far, if the stench was any indication.

A single guard stood watch at the entrance, with the glazed look of someone failing to stay awake. They slipped past unnoticed, and headed for the cells as fast as their tiny paws could carry them. They began with the first on the right, darting beneath the heavy wooden door. Killian was no stranger to the fetid aroma so particular to dank dungeons, but with his newly heightened senses it threatened to overwhelm him. He put a glossy black paw to his nose, trying to spare himself the worst of it. Hic, too, was retching and finally held his tail to his nose in desperation. A single figure occupied the small cell, crouched in the corner. It was dark, and the man so dirty and unkempt it was difficult to tell, but Killian thought he was young. Arthur darted forward excitedly, which nearly proved to be his undoing. The prisoner lunged with unexpected speed and caught him up in his hand. Killian knew what was about to happen, but he'd never felt more powerless. Desperate, starving men couldn't afford to pass up a meal, even when it had four feet and a beating heart. Just when he thought Arthur's neck was about to be broken, there was a whoosh and a swirl of blue smoke enveloped the prisoner's hand. When it dissipated, Arthur was back to his normal human self, and sitting squarely in a very surprised prisoner's lap.

"Well, this is a bit more awkward than I'd anticipated," drawled the king to his astonished knight. "Hello, Lancelot."

"Y-your majesty? Is it really you?"

"None other," he replied, rising to his feet and offering a hand down to the man, who took it with shaking fingers.

"Have I gone mad at last? Is this a trick of hers?" he rasped, eyes bulging.

"I assure you this is quite real, but we've no time to explain. How many of you are held here?"

"Eleven."

Arthur stopped cold, a stricken look on his face.

"All of my knights stood against her?"

"Of course, your majesty," said Lancelot, strength creeping back into his voice. "Your knights are loyal to the end."

Arthur looked overcome for a moment, then pulled the filthy man into a hug.

"Thank you, my friend. I will explain everything, but first we must get you out of this dismal place."

"But how? Is Merlin with you? Is that how you…"

"Yes, he's amongst us. This will be a bit strange, but you must trust me. Merlin will transform you and we'll collect the others."

Within moments, the bewildered Lancelot was transfigured into a rather thin, shabby-looking mouse, and they set off for the other cells. It only took a moment within each for Arthur to be changed into a man, explain the situation, and convince the occupant to join them. When their group was complete, they crept back to the entrance. The guard had given in to sleep at last, and snored softly as they slunk by. All was going according to plan, which, as a rule, always made Killian exceedingly nervous.

They were well on their way back to the sewers that led from the castle when a sudden scent on the air froze him still as a statue, heart pounding. He saw the rest of their ragtag band of rodents follow suit. The origin of their primal fear rounded a corner ahead of them, hissing with a predator's glee. The tabby cat appeared to them the size of a house, each tooth and claw more than capable of skewering a small rodent. They scattered, save for the grizzled gray mouse who merely sat and waited calmly for the beast's approach. The cat pounced, delighted at finding such easy prey, then yowled in confusion as it landed on a puff of swirling smoke. Its confusion turned to panic as a muscular silver pit bull emerged from the miasma, growling menacingly. Killian breathed a squeak of relief to see the tabby's tail swish around the corner, as it fled in high dudgeon. Merlin maintained his dog form, in case of further feline encounters, Killian supposed, and they set off once more.

They reached the foul-smelling hatch that led down into the sewers and scampered inside. Merlin had impressed upon them the need to be well away from the castle as quickly as possible. Morgana, or any Asgardians who may be within the walls, would surely sense magic at work and make their way to the dungeons eventually, finding the mysteriously empty cells, and they must be outside the castle grounds by that point. They'd just exited the pipe that emptied into the creek below Camelot when an alarm bell began to clang from the castle, followed by the shouts of men. With another flash of magic, they were again transformed, this time into a pack of dogs similar to Merlin's breed. They surged along through the forest, following the old wizard's lead, until the prisoners' strength began to flag and they slowed to a halt, panting.

"That's rather far enough for the moment, I daresay," said the old wizard breathlessly, shaking out his blue robes. He directed his wand at them in a careless sweep, and Killian felt once more the unpleasant distortion of the senses that came with changing species. Patting his pockets, he assured himself that he'd been returned in good order. He liberated his flask and took a long draught, before passing it on to the others. Merlin had been so good as to offer him a bottle of excellent rum when he'd arrived on the Jolly Roger yesterday, which, in addition to healing Merida, had immediately put the old man in Killian's good graces. Perhaps permanently, thought Killian with a sigh, sipping contentedly as the flask found its way back to him.

"Are we far enough away to risk this pause, Merlin?" asked Arthur worriedly, handing a heel of bread and some cheese to Lancelot. Arthur busied himself with checking on each of his men, who were all invariably in rough shape. Shellshocked at their rescue, winded by the midnight run through the forest, and worn down by years of imprisonment in that horrid dungeon, they were as sorry a lot as any Killian had seen, and that included the miserable press gangs on some Tortugan vessels. But the men seemed strong in spirit, at least, bearing their condition without complaint. They rested for several minutes, until the sound of barking dogs in the distance warned them that they were still being pursued.

"Morgana will not rest until she recaptures us," said Lancelot, grimly.

"That she will not do, I swear to you on my life," said Arthur, angrily. "I've no right to still claim to be your king after all this time, but I'll be damned if I'll let her take my men again!"

Lancelot said nothing, but knelt unsteadily on one knee before Arthur, head bent. The other ten knights rose and joined him, kneeling in a semi-circle around their king. Arthur's eyes shone in the moonlight.

"My lord, you shall always be our king," said Lancelot, fist to his chest. "Command us, and we shall free your kingdom of the witch who has stolen it from you."

"Aye!" cheered the men.

"Yours to the end, sire!"

"You honor me, good Knights. I swear to you that I will be worthy of your fealty," said Arthur, quietly touched, and Killian could see why he inspired such loyalty from his men. Good form, to be humble as a ruler. Arthur paused to shake hands with each of them, and spoke a few quiet words to them in turn.

"Arthur, we'd best be on our way, mate," said Killian, eying the direction of the forest from whence they came. The hair on the back of his neck was prickling, which was always a sign to make haste.

"Who is this ruffian who addresses you so informally, my lord?" asked Lancelot, eyeing Killian with flat distrust.

"Ruffian? You're not looking too polished yourself, mate," replied Killian with a nod at the man's shabbiness, more amused than offended.

"This is Captain Killian Jones," said Arthur, with calm authority. "He's an honorable man, who has given me safe passage these many years and saved my life more times than I can count."

Lancelot looked abashed, and offered Killian his hand. "Forgive me, friend Captain Jones. Any man who has saved the King's life is beyond reproach. Please accept my apologies."

"I don't know about honorable," said Killian, taking his hand, "but friend is true enough. Now, let's stop dallying and get back to my ship before this Morgana catches us up, eh?"

They moved as fast as they could despite the mens' state and the darkness of the woods, and before long they reached the rendezvous point. Camelot was situated well inland from the coast, so they would have a full day on horseback ahead of them. A cloaked figure stood waiting in the clearing, along with a dozen horses placidly grazing.

"About bloody time! You're an hour late!"

Merida tossed back her hood, clearly irritated and relieved in equal measure. She peered intently at Hic, apparently ascertained that he was uninjured, and whirled away before the poor lad could say a word. Apparently, the two of them were still on the outs, but Killian could hardly keep track any more. Merida clambered stiffly onto a horse. The ghastly wounds on her back, courtesy of a Sentinel, were mostly healed now, thanks to Merlin, but she'd not been in good enough shape to accompany them into the castle.

"Well? Are ye just going to sit there all night like bumps on a log, or would ye like to get back to the ship at some point?" she snapped, and flicked her reins impatiently, setting off at a trot.

"Who was that tempestuous creature?" asked one of the knights, Percival, sounding awed. The man beside him whistled low and appreciatively.

Hic launched angrily into his saddle and kicked his horse into a gallop. He cast a territorial glare at the men as he went, the meaning of which was unmistakeable.

"That's another of our allies, Merida, Princess of Dunbroch," replied Arthur with a grin as they mounted their own horses.

"Royalty, eh? Explains the attitude, if you'll pardon my saying so, your majesty," said Percival, with a wink, and got a playful shove from Arthur in return.

"She's spoken for, then? By the quiet lad?" asked the knight who'd whistled, who Killian thought was called Bors.

"It's…complicated," replied Killian. "But yes, the two of them have a history."

"Ah, but do they have a future?" replied Bors, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Leave it be, Bors," said Arthur, rolling his eyes.

Killian got the impression that this Bors fancied himself a bit of a ladies' man, and that Merida had just piqued his interest. Perhaps it was all to the good, mused Killian. A little attention from the Knights of Camelot might finally force Hic to make a choice. Killian had nothing against this Astrid of his, in fact she seemed a brave and decent lass. But it was obvious to him that Merida and Hic had something special between them, and he wanted to see them both happy, as he was with Emma. Life in their band of travelers was uncertain at the best of times, and he had always embraced a philosophy of seize the day when it came to love. A familiar ache tightened his chest at the thought of his wife.

"Forgive him, your majesty. Five years in a cell has rotted his brain from lack of use," said Lancelot, smirking at Bors.

"It's not my _brain_ that's suffered from lack of use," replied Bors wryly, to general laughter.

Killian sighed heavily. He was well-acquainted with the ways of men. He'd spent centuries crewing a pirate ship for god's sake. But now he had a little girl aboard the Jolly Roger. He just hoped that Arthur's knights would behave like the gentlemen that legend claimed them to be.

000000

The night wore on, and they rode mostly in silence. Day broke wan and gray. Merlin rode slumped in the saddle, snoring deeply. The evening's magical feats and mad dash to escape had taken a toll on the old man. The knights were all quiet as well, taking it in turns to rest with a familiarity clearly born of old habits. They were forced to share the horses in pairs, since they'd not brought enough for everyone, but the men were so underfed that their weight was hardly a bother to the beasts.

They rode the better part of the day without stopping, keeping to the backroads and game trails. They saw no one, which was a boon to their escape, but clearly troubling to Arthur. The countryside had an empty feeling to it, as though the people were all fled, or in hiding. They finally slowed a few miles from the village they'd taken the horses from, and everyone dismounted wearily.

"Killian and Merida will return the horses we, um, borrowed, from the village," explained Arthur, sheepishly, "and then we'll walk the remaining few miles to the coast."

"It's best none of the villagers know of your involvement, Arthur," said Merlin with a yawn, patting the young monarch on the back. "We'll repay them in the future, many times over, for the use of their beasts."

Arthur nodded, but still looked unhappy. He'd not liked the part of the plan which involved stealing, however temporarily, a village's entire stock of horses. Killian and Merida set off for the small hamlet, beasts in tow, intending to sneak them back into the paddock and be off. But the smell of burning wood and flesh stopped them well before they got there. Peering through the branches of the trees, Killian could see that there was little left of the village. The buildings were naught but charred wreckage, and there were no sounds aside from the sighing of the wind. They returned to the group, heavy-hearted. When Arthur learned the fate of the villagers, his handsome face contorted with a rage that promised punishment for those responsible, followed quickly by guilt that left him pale and stricken.

"Don't blame yourself, mate," he said, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"He's right, sire," murmured Lancelot. "There is but one person to blame for this, and she sits upon your rightful throne."

Arthur didn't answer. He swung back up into the saddle, grim-faced, and they all followed suit. It seemed they would be keeping the horses for the remainder of the journey.

"So they know we were here. Do they also know where we're going?" mused Killian.

"I would say it's likely," replied Merlin, heavily. "We must be prepared."

"We should take a more roundabout path to the coast, just in case," suggested Killian.

They deviated from the direct course they would've taken, which prolonged the distance to be traveled considerably, but since they retained the horses they made decent time nonetheless. They came within sight of the ocean as the sun began to set, and Killian breathed more easily than he had in days. They emerged from the trees onto a grassy plateau situated high above the beach. He had left his spyglass in the care of Elsa, who he knew would be watching from the Jolly Roger. She was anchored too far out for him to make her out. Surveying the beach below the cliff, they saw no signs of life, but also no easy way to climb down.

"Damn, we could really use a hand from Elsa or Toothless," said Hic, peering down over the edge. Killian stayed well back, being less fond of heights than the dragon rider.

"Aye, but they'll not know to look for us here. We're leagues north of where we intended to be," replied Killian.

"At least we seem to have lost our pursuers," replied Arthur, scanning the forest they'd just left behind.

"Merlin, what do you propose? Have you the strength to get us to the beach somehow?"

The wizard was slumped wearily in his saddle, surveying the problem with pursed lips.

"I'm not as young as I once was, I'm afraid. Ordinarily, I would transform us all to birds, but I fear my strength has been tested too far this night. I have an idea, however," he said, climbing down from his horse with a saddle-sore gait. He opened his satchel and rummaged around inside it for a time, grumbling as various items within clanked and toppled.

"Damn, that was my last bottle of brandy!" he exclaimed to the sound of broken glass. "Ah, here we are! I shall use my remaining strength to fly to the Jolly Roger and alert our friends that we require some assistance."

He pulled a long broomstick from the bag. Tapping it with his wand, it hovered midair, waiting. Hopping aboard sidesaddle, he zoomed upward, and in moments the old man was a speck in the distance. Killian shook his head at the display and wondered if Emma would be able to fly, as well, with such a contraption at her disposal. Or Moriah. He shuddered at the thought of his daughter zipping around on a broom. The group settled in to wait. Bors was making a concerted effort to sit closely beside Merida, who was inching away and wrinkling her nose daintily.

"Milady, your beauty blinds me! Your glorious hair is a beacon fire to my heart. It beckons me to you, as a moth to a flame-"

The knights were all chuckling at his flowery attempts to woo the lass, made all the more comical by the man's ghastly appearance. Hic, on the other hand, had turned bright red, and was scowling openly at Bors with an expression that said plainly that if his dragon were here, it would not go well for the knight.

"Your glorious stench repels me, as a skunk to anyone with a nose. Me eyes are watering!" scolded Merida, teasingly, as she scooted away.

The men roared with laughter, howling louder as Bors pretended to sniff his own armpit with a puzzled expression, as though he couldn't understand what the lady was talking about. Even Hic cracked a smile.

"Milady, once I am properly attired-" began Bors, with great dignity, beseeching Merida from bended knee.

A deafening roar rent the air, a metallic screech that Killian knew all too well. His blood froze, all thought fleeing. A Sentinel. He was on his feet before he had time to formulate a plan. He drew his cutlass, and saw the setting sun's rays reflect in Excalibur as Arthur did the same. Merida smoothly drew her bow and knocked an arrow. Killian hoped she had a few of the special ones remaining that Regina had given her, which could penetrate Sentinel armor, because she was their best shot at surviving this encounter without magic.

He exchanged grim nods with her, Arthur and Hic. They knew what was coming, and they were the only ones armed. The knights, even if they'd had weapons, weren't in a fit state to fight. Nonetheless, the men had organized themselves in a loose battle formation, backs to the cliff. Killian realized this with a groan, and cursed his stupidity. He couldn't have picked a worse place to stage a battle, with a hundred foot drop to the rocks just feet behind them, and he had led them here. Obviously the enemy had seen their position and would press their advantage.

With a rending of branches, the metal monstrosity he'd dreaded hurtled from the trees and bounded across the grass toward them. The huge creature was gnashing its jagged teeth and roaring, bounding on all fours and tearing up great clods of earth with each stride. They braced for its attack, knowing they would be hard pressed to defend themselves against it with a few swords. Merida's bow twanged as she let fly a single, true arrow. It whistled sharply through the air and took the Sentinel directly between the eyes, buried to the fletching. The massive beast dropped like a boulder, tearing a gouge in the earth with a bone-shaking crash before sliding to rest mere feet from where they waited. Merida stepped forward nonchalantly and climbed atop its massive head, bracing her feet on its empty eye sockets. She yanked the precious Yggdrasil arrow from its armor with a burst of black ichor, wiped it carefully on her dress, and slid it back into her quiver. Bors hurried forward and reached up a hand to help her down, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. She took it, and gave him a saucy wink as she hopped from the creature's carcass.

"Marry me," croaked Bors. The knights all laughed, as did Merida. The rush of battle could make a man giddy, but there could be more coming, and they needed to be alert. Killian scanned the forest.

"Don't let your guard down," said Arthur, harshly. "There will be more. She'll have sent soldiers, or maybe an Asgardian magic-wielder, which we would be defenseless against. Or even she herself, if we are very unlucky."

As if his words had summoned them, a flood of black-clad soldiers emerged from the wood, weapons drawn. They pulled up short at the sight of the Sentinel downed so unexpectedly, and hesitated, uncertain. More than a few seemed to recognize Arthur, and lowered their weapons.

"Attack them, you fools!" yelled an imperious female voice. The soldiers blanched, and began their attach anew.

"Morgana! She's here!" growled Arthur, holding Excalibur at the ready.

Killian, Arthur and Hic rushed forward, trying to form a defensive wedge around the weaponless knights. His cutlass vibrated in his hands as he engaged with the first soldier to reach them. He danced the familiar dance of battle, the blood singing in his veins as he slashed and parried. Arthur and Hic held their own, and once the knights were able to salvage a few swords from the fallen soldiers, they joined in the fray with surprising vigor. Merida's arrows whistled around them, finding targets again and again. But they were vastly outnumbered, and eventually they would be overwhelmed.

"Retreat! Soldiers of Camelot, I command you to fall back!" boomed the imperious voice again. The soldiers complied, retreating across the field and dragging their wounded with them. A solitary figure, clad in black, moved in the opposite direction, striding gracefully through the corpses and bee-lining for Arthur with an unsettling intensity. She was a tall, raven-haired woman with a countenance made severe by a hawk-like nose and a cruel mouth. A black crown studded with diamonds sat low upon her brow, shading dark eyes which glittered with malevolence, or maybe madness. She spared an irritated glare for the downed Sentinel as she passed it, pressing her lips into a thin line.

"Arthur," she said, coming to a halt within a few strides of them.

Merida kept an arrow nocked and ready to fly, but Killian had a feeling ordinary weapons would do them little good against such a foe, if Arthur and Elsa's tales of her magical ability were to be believed.

"Morgana," replied Arthur flatly. His grip on Excalibur was so tight, his knuckles were white.

"Where have you been, cousin?" she asked, narrowing her eyes and cocking her head as though this were a puzzle she'd been trying to figure out for some time. She reminded Killian of a cat playing with its dinner.

"None of your concern. All that matters now is that I've returned. You'll not sit any longer upon my throne."

" _Your_ throne?" she said, eyes widening comically. She tipped back her head and laughed, a cold trill that contained no humor. "You delude yourself, Arthur. It is mine now, as it should always have been, and always shall be."

"You are the deluded one, Morgana," replied Arthur with disgust. "I should've sentenced you to death for treason all those years ago. It would've spared my people your betrayal of them to Asgard."

"Betrayal? Hardly. Our new allies have ensured our survival in troubled times. When you abandoned your people, they were in need of a firm hand to rule them. To save them. Lucky for Camelot that you didn't have the spine to execute me when you had the chance."

She didn't wait for his reply. She flung a hand toward him, issuing a blast of magic that knocked Excalibur from his grip. A whistle in Killian's ear told him Merida had let an arrow fly, but with another wave of her hand, Morgana stopped the arrow in its flight. Another small flick of her fingers sent Merida soaring through the air, tumbling backward over the cliff with a scream.

"No!" yelled Hic as he scrambled for the edge, nearly going over himself. All was chaos as the knights and Arthur flung themselves at Morgana, who repelled their assault with a magical shield that crackled to life around her like an impenetrable bubble. She stood within it, laughing mockingly at Arthur's impotent rage. For no reason they could see, however, her laughter suddenly ceased, and she stood gaping in horror at something behind them, out toward the ocean. A blast of ice with the force of a geyser met her shield with a deafening explosion, knocking her backward fifty paces. Killian grinned to see the winged form of Toothless rising up from below the cliff's edge behind them, a blonde woman poised majestically on his back like a Valkyrie riding into battle. Elsa was wielding her magic with a fury he'd never seen from her before. She was out for Morgana's blood.

She aimed another torrent of ice at the queen, this time in a fusillade of lethally sharp spears. Morgana was fleeing backward now in earnest, her queenly dignity gone, as she scrambled to defend herself from the onslaught. She was screaming for her soldiers to help her, but the few that dared try to reach her were quickly driven back by blasts of dragonfire from Toothless, who was spitting crackling purple fireballs at the retreating fighters. Killian joined the others in yelling madly with excitement, cheering them on. Morgana screamed a final retreat, then disappeared in a swirl of black smoke. A raven winged its way from the cloud and darted into the forest, the surviving soldiers following suit.

Killian ran for the cliff's edge, where Hic was pulling Merida to safety. He lent a hand, and together they got her back on solid ground.

"Nice shooting, lass!" he said, clapping her on the back. Merida grinned at them, then threw her arms around Hic's neck and kissed him soundly. Hic froze in shock for a moment, then slid his arms around her in eager response, lifting the lass off her feet. Merida immediately broke the embrace and strode away without a backward glance, blushing furiously and straightening her quiver. Hic was left watching her go, looking so confused he appeared to be concussed. Killian passed him his flask, trying not to laugh.

"That's women for you, mate. One minute they want to kill you, the next they're kissing you senseless."

Hic ran a hand raggedly through his hair and took a swig. He handed it back with thanks and they made their way to where Toothless had just landed. Arthur was helping Elsa down from the saddle, both hands on her narrow waist. She slid to the ground and gazed up at him, neither of them letting go right away.

"Are you all right? Did she hurt you?" asked Elsa quietly, searching his eyes.

"I'm fine, thanks to you," replied Arthur, a catch in his voice.

Elsa blushed, and seemed to register that everyone was watching them, for she stepped away from Arthur and smoothed her skirts nervously.

"Allow me to introduce our savior," said Arthur, taking her hand and presenting her to his men, "her Royal Highness, Elsa, Queen of Arendelle. Elsa, these are my Knights of the Round Table."

As one, the group of bedraggled knights knelt before them and bowed reverently to Elsa.

"Please, rise," she said, sounding a little uncomfortable.

"We owe you our lives, brave lady!" cried Percival.

"Aye, we owe you a great debt, your highness," added Lancelot with sincere warmth, and no small amount of curiosity. His eyes lingered on her hand still clasped in Arthur's own, the latter gazing at her with an unmistakable heat.

"No, please, it was nothing," she protested, blushing deeper still.

"It was not nothing," said Arthur with quiet pride. "I know what it meant for you to face Morgana today. You were incredible, Elsa."

"We can better thank Elsa-" began Killian.

"And Toothless!" interjected Hic, patting the beast's glossy black neck. The knights applauded and catcalled to the dragon, who preened at the attention.

"-once we're safely aboard the Jolly Roger," continued Killian.

"You're right, Killian. We don't want to wait here until she comes back with reinforcements," said Elsa. "I'll convey most of us back by boat, while Toothless carries Hic and Merida to guard our retreat from above."

To the astonishment of the knights, Elsa conjured a smoothly arching bridge that led downward from the cliff to some point below, where she would no doubt conjure a seaworthy vessel for them to embark. Killian led the way, eager as he was to get back to the Jolly Roger and hold his little girl.

"Though your rescue was of course the primary objective, we had also hoped to spread the story of your escape, and my return, throughout the kingdom today. Do you think we succeeded?" Arthur was asking Lancelot as they descended.

"Oh, yes, sire. The people will surely hear of what happened today. Many of the soldiers on the field today saw you, and Excalibur. It has been long since they had any hope. Now they will learn that you live still, that you have liberated your knights from her dungeons, and that you defeated her in battle with the help of some powerful, and dare I say, quite lovely," he added, with a meaningful nod at Elsa, "allies. It is a new day in Camelot, I assure you."

"All in all, then, it was a successful plan," mused Arthur, adding darkly, "with the exception of the village."

"Village?" asked Elsa.

Arthur sighed heavily. "Yes, there was a village we borrowed the horses from. When we returned this morning, Morgana had destroyed it."

"Oh, Arthur. I'm so sorry," she said, taking his hand.

He smiled sadly, looping her hand through his arm and resuming their walk. She didn't resist, and even leaned into him a little, which made Killian smile. Perhaps Elsa's fight against Morgana today had restored not just her mettle, but her feelings for Arthur to boot. Emma would be pleased. With a pang at the thought of returning to a ship without his wife aboard, he wondered for the millionth time what kind of trouble she was giving the Asgardians at that very moment.


	10. Swan's Flight

Emma's kneecaps throbbed painfully, but she remained perfectly still, kneeling beside Vakyr's chair as he had instructed her to. Today's conclave had been going on for at least an hour, and she hadn't moved a muscle. The curse he'd put on her was strong, and she had to pick her battles. She hadn't spoken a single word, not yet. That was the important thing. He'd commanded her not to speak unless it was to answer his questions about the girl in the prophecy, and that she would never do even if it meant never speaking another word as long as she lived. And if the price was obeying him meekly when he told her to follow him, and even kneeling like a dog next to his chair, she would do it, as long as she could hang on to enough inner resources to resist his questions. It had been three days since he'd cursed her, three days of constant cruelty, but she was stilling hanging on to her silence.

"Brother Maiv," said Vakyr. Something in his tone caught Emma's attention. She'd hoped these daily conclaves would provide information that she could use, but so far it had been a never-ending series of reports on topics like rations, harvesting, recruitment efforts and the like. She knew Regina would've found it all endlessly fascinating, but Emma tuned out quickly. Her mind wandered inevitably to the Jolly Roger, and to her husband and daughter, and she let herself float in a pleasant daydream for a time. Vakyr's voice called her back to herself. He didn't like this Brother Maiv, whoever he was. Emma studied the old man who had approached Vakyr's chair at the head of the assembly.

Maiv was openly studying her in return. He was elderly, small in stature and slightly stooped, but there was an underlying strength to him as he faced Vakyr. Most, if not all, of the Brothers reporting to him throughout these conclaves delivered their news with nervousness, eyes downcast. But not this Maiv, who appeared unfazed.

"Brother Vakyr," replied Maiv, with a polite nod.

"What brings you to the conclave this evening? Has something disturbed your rest? Tell me of it, so that I may help."

Vakyr's words were soft, but there was an unmistakable iciness beneath. Maiv smiled indulgently.

"There is a rumor, exaggerated, I'm sure, that you have created an Ond-Praell," said Maiv, his eyes darting to Emma, "and I have assured our brethren that this is untrue, as no Brother would be so foolish as to disobey Odin himself."

Vakyr smiled without warmth and reached down to grab Emma's neck. He forced her to turn, still on her knees, so as to display her bare back to the assembled Brothers. With perverse delicacy, he lifted her blonde hair over her shoulder to improve the view. She'd been dressed that evening, as she had every day since the curse, in a black gown of rough wool, which hid the dark obsidian cuff that still wrapped her right wrist and blocked her magic. The dress was extremely modest except for the fully exposed back, the purpose of which she now understood. He intended to flaunt what he'd done to her. A surge of fury, not entirely her own, caused her to clench her hands to avoid hitting something. Vakyr was not happy to be challenged. It was hard to tell the difference between her own emotions and his at times. This damned curse had connected them in some way she was still trying to understand.

The crowd gasped and murmured at seeing the lacy pattern of scars that covered her from the neck down. She'd mustered enough courage to peek briefly at it in the mirror that first day, and had avoided it ever since, horrified. Vakyr had taken his time carving her up not just out of sadistic pleasure, though that was definitely part of it, but because he was actually drawing the symbols he needed for this horrible curse directly into her skin. It made her feel nauseous to think of Killian seeing her like this.

Vakyr's grip on her neck relaxed and she swung back to face Maiv and the crowd. She kept her head held high, refusing to look weak. There were many Brothers smirking openly, enjoying Vakyr's display of her, but several looked appalled, or like Maiv, disgusted.

"So, it's true. You have disobeyed the gods and created a soul-slave of this human. Why?" asked the old man, softly. His eyes glittered with anger.

"Because she is our enemy. Have you forgotten that she melted half our Temple a week gone? Have you forgotten our brethren she killed? She is touched by the Diviner, and she has information that will lead us to victory. So yes, I used a curse that will deliver what I require. I do as I must to serve Odin, even if that means bending the rules on occasion."

There was muttering in the assembly, mostly approving, but not all. Emma tried to take in the scene, memorize faces of those who were for or against Vakyr's treatment of her. She caught sight of the young acolyte who'd carried her from the torture tower that first morning. He was watching her and frowning, pale and miserable-looking. The boy flinched when he realized she was watching him, and melted back into the crowd, but not before she saw his eyes flicker to Maiv, as if for guidance. Interesting. Perhaps she could find allies even here, inside the Temple itself.

"And have you learned anything of value? No one has yet heard her speak a word."

"I have bound her to say nothing until she answers my questions. Until then, not a word can she utter, on pain of death. She is strong, but I will get what I need, eventually. No one can resist the power of this curse forever. But at least, as you can see, she has come to heel nicely."

There were malicious chuckles at this last.

"Yes, it is a powerful curse indeed. Which is why Ond-praell were forbidden during the Long War, by Odin himself, and the way of it purged from our knowledge. You think yourself above the gods, my Brother?"

"How do you think I learned how to cast the curse? I recovered the Wanderer. I raised him from obscurity and returned his memories, including the casting of the Ond-Praell, which he shared with me, his counselor and friend. I will walk beside him as we conquer the nine worlds, as Asgard was meant to do!"

Cheers and shouts erupted from the crowd. Maiv pressed his lips into a thin line and scowled at the assembly.

"Found the Wanderer you did. Restored his memories, you did, though we can debate the wisdom of your methods. But where is he, Vakyr? We hear that Odin has abandoned your wise counsel, and Wanders the worlds without the Order's guiding hand."

Fury, white hot, seethed in Vakyr, and transmitted itself to Emma. She wanted to strike out at Maiv, to hurt him, and restrained herself with difficulty. What the hell was this curse doing to her? She fought the tide of foreign emotion, biting the inside of her cheek so hard it bled.

"Lies. The boy is being trained in secret, for his own protection, until he fully regains his powers and knowledge. The Order guides him, until such time as he is ready to rule once more," replied Vakyr, eyes glittering.

Emma tried to focus. Vakyr was lying, she was sure of it. Her gift told her as much, and it was affirmed by the small flicker of panic she could sense through the curse-bond. Her heart beat faster. This was news she could use to fight Asgard, when she finally got the hell out of here.

"Reports have reached our ears which say otherwise-" began Maiv.

"False rumors, planted by our enemies! This woman, who you seem to pity so much, is one such enemy. Just days ago, we buried our murdered brethren - dead at her hands!- and yet you condemn my use of a forbidden curse to find out what she knows? Be glad, old man, that one among us has the balls to fight for Asgard, with whatever weapons are to hand. I tire of your questions, old man. This conclave is at an end. Dismissed!"

Vakyr rose and stalked from the chamber, acolytes scurrying to get out of his way as he went. Emma followed, but not before casting one last look at Maiv, who stood stroking his beard thoughtfully. Whoever he was, he'd just hit a nerve with Vakyr. And that was something she could use.

00000

Emma took the punch, and heard her nose crack. She didn't fight back, since Vakyr didn't want her to. They were in his private quarters, and she was absorbing the brunt of his anger after the audience he'd just had with Maiv. The curse meant that each blow he landed on her body pleased Vakyr, which, grotesquely, pleased her, too. She was racked by physical pain, yet happy about it at the same time. It was so messed up.

"Do you want me to stop, my pet?" panted Vakyr, running his hand gently through her hair. He traced her bloodied lip with his thumb.

Emma stood quietly, waiting for the next blow, with a touch of eagerness that disgusted her. She knew it was Vakyr's eagerness, and not her own, but that didn't make it easier to ignore.

"No, I thought not," he whispered, slapping her with an open hand. She could feel his glee, his surge of joy at causing her pain, and it was her own joy as well. There was something else this time, something she'd dreaded but hadn't had to face yet. He stalked toward her with a wild expression. He whirled her around so her back was to him and bent her forcefully over the table. She felt his excitement, his tongue against her skin as he traced the scars with his lips. She shuddered with disgust. His hand was raising her skirts. Panic broke through her trance, and she struggled against him, but he held her firmly.

"Tell me your name, and I'll stop. Just your name, one word, and this will end!"

Emma shook her head firmly, fear giving her the strength to resist his assaults, both physical and mental. She raked a foot down his shin, and snapped her head back, taking him squarely in the nose and breaking it in turn. In that moment, she learned quickly another aspect of the curse: his pain became hers, but magnified by a thousand. She collapsed in agony, screaming silently as her world turned to fire. It was pain like she'd never felt, worse than having her back flayed open, and it obliterated her. She lay panting on the rug, willing it to end.

"I see you've learned what happens when a Praell attacks her master," spat Vakyr, holding his sleeve to his nose. "It hurts, yes? Let's begin again, pet."

He started toward her but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"What is it?" he snarled, stomping over and flinging the door open.

Emma saw the same acolyte who'd been in the audience, the one who'd carried her that first day. The one who, she thought, was working with Maiv. He carried a tray, and stared wide-eyed at their bloodied faces.

"Your wine, sir," he squeaked, the silver service clattering in his hands.

"Put it on the table and get out."

As the acolyte passed Emma, he cast a meaningful glance at the wine and shook his head imperceptibly. She froze. Was he giving her a message? Was the wine dosed? The acolyte poured two goblets and backed out of the room, head bowed.

"Fetch a healer," Vakyr barked at the boy, before slamming the door in his face.

Vakyr spat a mouthful of blood at Emma, spattering her dress, which was already liberally soaked with her own blood. She flinched, but didn't otherwise react. The aftermath of that pain was still ricocheting through her body, and she was trying to deepen and control her breathing.

"Here, drink," he said, gruffly handing her a goblet. She remembered the acolyte's head shake, and only pretended to sip as Vakyr took several long swallows.

"You must speak to me. I have to know. I have to know about her," mumbled Vakyr, sitting down heavily on a chair.

Emma pretended to sip again, sitting opposite him at the table.

"You know who she is, I can sense it. Or, at least, you know this woman, the Savior. The girl's mother. Perhaps you are she, though what could've induced you to abandon a young child, I can't imagine…no, it can't be you…"

Emma carefully kept her expression smooth, though her insides were churning as if she'd swallowed battery acid. Vakyr's lids were drooping, and his next words were slurred.

"I have to find the girl, to destroy her, before she can destroy him. It's my fault…I…ruined…his…Torsten's mind. Gone mad. I returned all Odin's memories to him too…fast…too…much. Couldn't foresee what it would do. Have to help him…save him…save Asgard, before she…she…"

The goblet of wine slipped from his fingers, landing on the carpet with a thud. Vakyr snored gently, bubbles forming in the blood drying around his nose. Emma set down the goblet with a sigh and rubbed her temples. She was only ever able to relax when Vakyr was unconscious, and whatever he'd been dosed with had put him deeply under.

The door swung open silently, and the acolyte slipped inside. He tossed her a cloak, and motioned her to rise and follow him. She ignored him, and waited patiently for him to explain himself. He returned to the table, casting nervous looks at the door. He poured water on a cloth and passed it to her to clean the blood off her face.

"My name is Mekri, and I work for Brother Maiv," he whispered. "Not everyone agrees with Vakyr about your treatment, or about the war. Maiv pressed him today about Odin because we believe Vakyr hasn't been truthful with the Order about him. Now, if you want to get out of Asgard, you'll come with me, now!"

She wasn't necessarily convinced that the acolyte was on her side, but he was telling her the truth. He was going to help her escape, and Emma supposed she didn't really care what his motivations were. She donned the cloak, hooding her face, and followed him into the hallway. Emma's heart was pounding in her ears. Vakyr hadn't explicitly forbidden her to escape, thankfully. She'd not been able to disobey direct orders, either issued by Vakyr himself or otherwise dictated by the magic cuff around her wrist. As they neared one of the small rear gates, she kept waiting for an alarm to sound, or for some magical barrier to rise up and trap her. But nothing happened. They reached the door, which was mysteriously unguarded. Maiv had planned this well. Mekri led her through unmolested, and they merged into the flow of the city around them. He was clearly nervous, watching the crowd as though expecting to be pounced on at any moment. She nudged him with her elbow and rolled her eyes, indicating he needed to chill out.

"I'm drawing too much attention, aren't I?" he asked, licking his lips nervously. He was just a kid, even younger than Henry. She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, and was rewarded with a hesitant smile. They continued on, wending their way toward the city gates. She wanted to ask what the plan was, and was trying to figure out how to get her point across, when Mekri stumbled beside her. He looked down in confusion at the arrow sticking out of his chest, as did Emma. She turned to see gray clad men running toward them. Several people screamed. "Run," he gasped, pushing her forward.

And she did. Not looking back, she dashed through the crowds, which were chaotic with panicked citizens trying to escape the melee. She wasn't entirely sure where she was at first, but soon stumbled upon a familiar street. She darted through side alleys, avoiding people as much as possible, until she reached her destination. Rapping on the door of the Golden Cup, she prayed that Jael was still there, and willing to help her.

0000

"I must say you've looked better, darling," said Jael, surveying her swollen nose and bruising.

She rolled her eyes and said nothing, gesturing excitedly that she needed to get the hell out of Asagarth. She pulled on her red leather jacket and checked through the contents of her satchel. The old man had kept everything safe for her. It felt reassuring to strap her gun to her hip, as strange as it looked over the dress. Being without magic made her feel way too vulnerable.

"Yes, I'd heard about the hideous spell Vakyr cast upon you. Here, try this," he said, handing her a pad of paper from his desk. She scribbled quickly and handed it back.

Jael put on his spectacles and read aloud: "Trouble must leave now secret pls help."

Emma clasped her hands together in a universal symbol for begging.

"I thought as much, my dear. This way, hurry," said Jael, leading her toward one of the bookcases. He tugged on a candlestick and it swung open silently. He gestured her to follow him. The passage was low and narrow, so they had to crouch. Jael moved nimbly despite his age, and obviously knew the passage well enough to not need a torch. Emma followed in his footsteps, hoping this led somewhere outside the city walls. The path branched several times, leading, she assumed, to various places Jael preferred to visit secretly. It was certainly handy, knowing a former Spymaster. They emerged at last into a field just south of the castle, popping up beneath a rock which Jael shifted to the side. They climbed out, and took a moment to catch their breaths.

"Now, I assume your way lies to the south, as it did before you were captured? Good, there is a band of Xoraxai on their way south down the main road. They left the city this morning and you should be able to catch up to them if you hurry. They are not fast travelers, as you know. Ask for Boyash, or, er, hand them a note asking for Boyash, and tell him I sent you. They will conceal you amongst them."

Emma had recognized the name. It was the same band of Xoraxai they'd traveled with on the way into Asagarth. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Emma pulled Jael into a brief hug, planting a kiss on his cheek in thanks.

"Good luck, my dear," he said, kissing her hand. He winked as he disappeared back into his tunnel, and pulled the rock back into place. Emma set off in the deepening twilight, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and Vakyr before he woke up.

000000

"It's you!" exclaimed Boyash, rushing forward to greet her. The Xoraxai hadn't gotten very far beyond the city before making camp for the night. He drew her to sit with them at the fire, sharing the meal they'd prepared. He'd attempted the formal greeting of the Xoraxai, but Emma had indicated she was unable to speak. It didn't seem to matter much, since Boyash made enough conversation for both of them. He pattered on about the poor quality of trade in Asagarth, and how the war was adversely affecting the flower and silver trades. Emma wrote on her little notepad asking if he, by chance, still had her old clothes, which she'd traded for a dress last time they crossed paths.

"You're in luck! No one has wanted to trade for them. Come, this way."

His wife, Lhyia, embraced her warmly and led her to the vividly painted wagon that held the clothing and supplies. After some rifling, Emma happily exchanged her black wool dress for her jeans and sweater, sighing with delight to be back in normal clothing. Feeling more like herself than she had in ages, she shouldered her pack and handed Lhyia a note asking for food and water. Though Jael had told her to travel hidden with the Xoraxai, she knew she was placing them in danger just by being here.

"Of course, you may take whatever you need. But surely you aren't planning on traveling tonight?" asked Lhyia, aghast that she wanted to strike out on her own after dark.

"You should camp with us, young lady. There's a storm brewing. And with ruffians on the road these days, you shouldn't be alone at night," added Boyash.

Emma looked off to the west, and saw that storm clouds were, in fact, gathering. Just great. She sighed tiredly. It had been a long day, and her broken nose was throbbing unhappily. She hadn't looked in a mirror, but she was sure she had a couple of black eyes to go along with it. She wanted desperately to lie down and sleep. But she squared her shoulders. Scribbling on her pad, she thanked her hosts and added, in the formal goodbye of the Xoraxai, 'May our steps cross again one day.'

Boyash and Lhyia exchanged worried glances. They put hands to heart, and bowed. "May our steps cross again."

A clap of thunder sounded in the distance as she turned to depart. Emma grimaced, pondering a night spent trudging through wet grass. A bolt of lightning illuminated the fields, and she saw, to her horror, a pair of Sentinels a hundred yards out, and gaining fast. She grabbed Boyash's arm and pointed them out. Lhyia began barking orders, telling her people to run and hide. Boyash pushed Emma toward the woods. "Run!"

She ran, tears streaming down her face. She shouldn't have come to them. Shouldn't have put these people in danger. There were children in the camp, for god's sake! She was such an idiot. Of course the Order would send Sentinels. Of course they would be willing to hurt or kill anyone who helped her! She had just reached the shelter of the trees when she felt a stabbing pain in her side. A small silver dagger was sticking out from her ribs. A gray-robed acolyte was running toward her, shouting triumphantly. She tugged the blade from her body and gripped the slick blade with trembling fingers. She threw it back with a strength borne of desperation. It was hard to say which of them, her or the acolyte, was more surprised when it sunk to the hilt in his chest. He fell silently to the grass, a boy no more than eighteen. Emma felt sick, and not just because of the hole in her chest. She ran deeper into the woods, trying to ignore the taste of blood in her mouth.


	11. The Cut-Wife of Tarth

The lightning flash was blinding, followed instantly by a deafening thunderclap. A tree nearby split asunder as it was struck, exploding shards of wood in all directions. A few splinters embedded in her shoulder and leg as she ran, but she couldn't afford to stop. Emma stumbled onward, slipping and sliding in the fast thickening mud. The wound between her ribs was spreading warmth down her side. She'd pass out soon from blood loss, that much she knew.

The storm was relentless, and she knew she was lost. But there was nothing to do but keep going, and hope she was still headed away from Asagarth, and with any luck, toward the portal. She dug the orb out of her pack and held it aloft in her bloodied hand, its faint glow lighting her way in the dim murk. Branches smacked her in the face as she ran, adding more cuts and bruises to the collection she already sported. Her red leather jacket gave her some protection, but she was still soaked to the skin by the freezing rain. Teeth chattering, she forced one foot in front of the other. Time passed, but the storm showed no signs of weakening. On the bright side, it was making it harder for her pursuers to track her. On the downside, she had no idea where she was. At long last, there was a break in the trees and she stumbled, exhausted, onto a rocky, windswept plateau. The gray sea stretched out before her, the thunderclouds roiling far into the distance. She fell to her knees, weak and desperate, and was debating whether to lie down and rest or keep walking when she felt the cold steel blade at her neck. She froze, and raised her hands, both covered in blood, one holding the orb.

"You've magic, but you're no Asgardian," rasped a low voice in brusque tones. Emma thought it was a woman, but wasn't sure. She was shaking violently now, from the blood loss and shock. The curse meant she couldn't speak, so she merely held still and waited.

The blade lifted from her neck and a squat figure, deeply cloaked in roughspun brown wool appeared in front of her, holding the knife between them threateningly.

"You're trespassing. What do you want? If you're looking for the cutwife-"

Emma didn't know what that was, but she did know she was about to be sick. She leaned over, retching violently though there was nothing in her stomach. With some horror, she realized she'd just vomited up a huge amount of blood. Her injury was worse than she'd realized. The figure knelt beside her and peeled up her jacket and shirt, hissing when she saw the wound. She was a short woman, wrinkled and spotted in the way that people who spent their life out in the elements were, with gray hair trimmed close and unevenly to her scalp. Her eyes were hard, distrusting, but nonetheless she examined Emma's wound with skill, poking and pressing with an almost angry expression. In Storybrooke, Emma would've thought she was a nurse. A cranky one, she thought, with a chuckle. Her head spun. She was becoming delirious.

"Up you get, girl," said the woman, roughly hauling her to her feet with surprising strength. She was at least a foot shorter than Emma, and a lot wider. She braced Emma against her with an arm around her waist and hauled her bodily forward toward the edge of the cliff. For an absurd moment, Emma thought this crazy stranger was about to toss her off the edge, and dug in her feet.

"Do you want to die up here, girl? Come with me, if you want to live. Stay here, if you want to die."

Emma's strength was waning. If she stayed where she was, she was sure to bleed out. Deciding to trust this weird woman, she allowed herself to be led to the edge. Peering down with hazy vision, she could make out a series of stone steps carved into the side of the cliff. They trudged downward precariously. The drop-off to the rocky beach below was terrifying, made more so by the slipperiness of the steps. They finally reached a landing and turned inward to the cliff, where a wooden door was set amongst the rocks. The woman pushed her forward, and they entered a drafty corridor. Emma figured the woman had magic when torches along the wall guttered to life, but she was unable to ask. They stumbled onward, turning a few times until they reached another door. This one opened into a cozy sitting room. A fire burned warmly in the hearth, and none of the cold ocean air penetrated this deeply. A profusion of dried herbs hung from the ceiling in bunches, lending the place a pungent, but not unpleasant, aroma. The woman dragged her to a cot by the fire, and laid her down on it.

Emma clung to consciousness desperately. She realized dimly her clothing was about to be cut away. She wanted to warn the woman to leave her red jacket alone, but the words wouldn't come. The woman seemed to register her resistance, and shook her head with irritation. Nonetheless, she propped Emma up, tugging the wet jacket off with difficulty. Her reaction at seeing the obsidian cuff on Emma's wrist was marked. Her dark eyes narrowed, and she hissed a series of unfamiliar words, making a quick gesture with her thumb and forefinger over her heart. Emma noticed she avoided touching it, as though it would contaminate her. Emma's shirt she cut away, revealing a truly hideous wound between her ribs. The woman busied herself and returned with a kettle of boiling water and a variety of herbs and tools. She poured water into a bowl and began mashing some of the plants into it, making a thick, aromatic paste.

"Bite down," she ordered, slipping a wooden dowel between Emma's teeth. Without warning, she slapped a handful of the concoction on the wound and rubbed it firmly, forcing the paste into it. Emma screamed soundlessly, unable even to articulate her agony thanks to the curse. The dowel creaked between her teeth. The room spun and she thought she'd lose consciousness, but didn't.

"Good, you can take pain without blathering," said the woman, grudgingly approving, not realizing yet that Emma couldn't have talked, even if she wanted to. The agony slowly faded to a dull roar. The woman poured hot water over the wound, and Emma was shocked to see that it looked much better. It wasn't closed completely, but the bleeding had stopped and the color of her skin was improving. The woman reached for a needle and thread and set herself to sewing it up. Emma gritted her teeth and looked away. Another coat of paste was applied, and then she was wrapped snugly in a bandage.

"Sit up," she was ordered. Emma was exhausted. She didn't think she had it in her to do anything other than lie there.

"Sit. Up."

It took all her remaining strength, but she swung her legs over the edge of the cot and pulled herself up to sit. A rough wooden cup, steaming, was thrust into her hands.

"Drink."

It was a bitter concoction, scalding hot. Emma brought it to her lips with trembling hands and sipped. She gagged. It was absolutely vile. Why couldn't medicine ever taste like cocoa?

"Every drop. Unless you would rather the wound fester."

Emma scowled, but drank. The taste was horrible, but the warmth was welcome. She was still in soaking wet pants and her hair dripped onto her knees as she sat shivering. The woman handed her a wool blanket to wrap herself in, and took a seat opposite her in a rocking chair.

"No thanks for saving your life?"

Emma raised the cup and nodded, trying to indicate gratitude. The woman grunted.

"I guess that'll do. Not much of a talker, eh?"

Emma shook her head, unable to explain.

"Good, that suits me. You have magic though, or did, before some bastard cuffed you," she said, looking at the bracelet with disgust.

Emma nodded tiredly. She had a thought, and raised her wrist toward the woman with a questioning look. She was greeted with a brusque shake of the head.

"Can't remove it. Or even touch it. Bears the mark of the Order of the Sun."

The woman made that same quick gesture over her heart with her thumb and forefinger shaped into a crescent, as though warding off evil. Emma cocked her head questioningly, but the woman chose not to elaborate.

"You're running from them, then?"

Emma nodded resignedly, sure she was about to be kicked out into the storm. Who could blame the woman for not wanting to shelter someone hunted by the Order? She'd just gotten a peaceful band of Xoraxai attacked by Sentinels, and wasn't looking to drag anyone else into her mess. But the woman's response surprised her.

"You'll stay a while and heal, girl. This place is warded against the Brothers' magic."

At Emma's confused look, the woman pointed at the low stone roof overhead. A series of crude symbols was carved into it, blackened with years of soot. The centermost symbol, and the largest by far, was of a crescent moon, surrounded by a field of stars.

"Forbidden, since before the Long War. The Order of the Moon. All the women in my family, always practiced in secret. It's why we were always outcast, always shunned. People suspected."

"Moon?" mouthed Emma, eyes round.

"Not surprised you don't know. We had balance, once. Between the Orders. Dagr's boys in the Sun temple, and Nótt's girls in the Moon temple. Odin destroyed our temple before the war. Forbade our Order. Because of Freya, of course."

Emma tried to follow the thread of the words, but her thoughts swirled and her lids were heavy as lead. She was dimly aware of the cup being taken from her hands, and the woman pressing her back onto the cot, and then she knew no more.

The stars twinkled in a thick multitude like nothing she'd ever seen. She was floating, weightless, in the velvet darkness. There was no pain, because she had no physical body. She was merely a presence. Calm, eternal. A star nearby beckoned her, winking in a purple flash. She moved toward it, not conscious of traversing a distance exactly, but aware she was traveling. The light grew brighter, inviting her, and she moved straight for it, approaching with rapid speed. She entered it in a bright flash.

She found herself standing on the main street in Storybrooke. The town was bustling with normal activity, and she saw familiar faces everywhere. A couple was ambling away from her, pushing a stroller. She'd know them anywhere.

"Mom!" she cried, and was shocked to hear her own voice. She couldn't remember the last time she'd spoken aloud. The couple turned, and it really was her parents, beaming.

"Emma, there you are! We're going to be late for school. You can push your little brother, if you want."

"Okay, Mommy!"

Emma skipped toward them, her braids flying. She was happy to see her parents, happy to walk to school on a sunny day.

"What do you want to learn about in school today, sweetheart?" asked her Dad. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Um, dinosaurs!"

Snow and Charming laughed, and baby Neal gurgled happily in his stroller. She reached up to push him, though she was barely tall enough to reach the handles.

"You shouldn't be here," said a low voice, taut with anger. Emma looked up to see the drab figure of the woman, holding her arm in a death grip.

"Hey, leave me alone!" squealed Emma, in her six-year old voice. She was happy. Her family was here, and everyone was safe.

"This isn't real. Search your heart, and you will know."

"Get your hands off our daughter!" said Charming, reaching for the woman. The scene blurred and distorted and Emma had the sense of being pulled away.

"No!" she screamed. "I want to stay! Mommy!"

"Foolish girl," said the woman. They were standing on the clifftop, overlooking the gray ocean. She was scowling at Emma, who realized she was back to her normal, adult self. She patted her hair, looking for the braids she'd just been wearing, and found only her usual long tresses. That had been truly weird. She'd actually become a child for a while, even in her own mind.

"What was that? And how is it I can talk here?"

"That was someone else's dream, and you could've been trapped there permanently, you fool!"

"A dream? What do you mean?"

"We are in Nott's Nightworld. The world of dreams. Just my luck you have the ability to Walk. If I'd known, I wouldn't have dosed you with blue Nightshade."

"Dosed me?"

"Sedative. For normal people, it induces a deep, dream-filled sleep. For those who Walk, it allows entry to this place, the Nightworld."

"And this is a world of…dreams?"

"Yes, and you made a child's mistake, allowing yourself to be pulled into another's dream. We are drawn to the dreams of those we feel most strongly about, and those are the ones which are most dangerous to us. Without experience, you could've been trapped in that woman's dream, or injured or changed in some fundamental way that would remain with you upon waking. Your mother?"

Emma nodded, frightened by the woman's intensity.

"That's why she saw you as a child, and you changed to match her desires. The power in a dream belongs to the dreamer, not the Walker. Without practice, and strength, you should not visit the dreams of another. Do you understand me, girl?"

Emma was beginning to understand. "You can stop calling me 'girl'. I'm Emma Swan. What's your name?"

The woman turned and walked down the steps leading to her home, which looked exactly the same as they did in real life. Emma followed, wondering what would happen in real life if she fell off the cliff in this place.

"I am called Jamri. I am the cut-wife of Tarth."

"What's a cut-wife?"

That earned her a sharp look.

"I am the one the village girls come to when they have nowhere else to turn. Or when someone has a problem the healers can't cure."

"You must be very important, then."

The woman snorted. "They despise me."

"But they must need your skill, your herbs. You healed me from a wound that should've killed me!"

"They despise me because they need me."

Emma left it alone. She had ideas spinning in her head, the possibilities of this Nightworld they were in.

"So Jamri, tell me more about this place. Can I contact people, get them messages?"

"Yes, with practice, and once you are able to convince them that you're really there, and not just a figment. It's easier once you've seen them in real life and warned them what to expect. And of course if they can also Walk, then you can meet them here, in the Nightworld, which is a reflection of our own reality, rather than entering their own private dreams. It's safer, and less embarrassing."

"Embarrassing?"

"Would you want someone to be able to walk into your dreams? See your innermost fears and hopes? I thought not," she said, to Emma's frown.

"How do I find a specific person's dreams?" she asked, heart beating faster. If she could just see Killian, even for a moment…

"Don't even think about it. You'll just go bumbling around and get yourself into trouble. You need training, girl."

"Then train me."

"With all of Asgard searching for you? You have hours, days at the most, and then you move on."

"I thought you said you were warded against the Brothers?"

"Against Brothers, yes. Against normal Asgardians searching every haystack, or Sentinels for that matter, there is no warding. I've seen that cuff and the scars on your back. You have magic, and you can Walk. You are no ordinary woman. And tell me, why is it you can't talk?"

"You saw my back?" snapped Emma, feeling violated. The woman simply crossed her arms and waited in a way that said she would hear the whole story, then and there. Emma didn't want to, but she felt she owed it to the woman to be honest about her situation.

"We might as well start at the beginning then," said Emma, sitting down on the cot with a heavy sigh. "Hope you have plenty of time."

"It's hours yet to sunrise, and the dose I gave you should last till then. Myself, I am trained to enter the Nightworld at will, and stay as long as I want. With time, you could learn to do the same."

"It began five years ago," started Emma, spinning her tale with a heavy heart. She told of their disappearance into an empty world, and the birth of her daughter, who had such strange and awesome powers, even as an infant. At this, the woman's attention sharpened, but she didn't ask questions, merely listened. Emma explained how they had found their way back to the real world, through Soria Moria.

"I know of this place, and its destruction. It is a gateway to the Nightworld. Or was," muttered Jamri, lost in thought.

Emma concluded with the tale of finding their friends in the EF, battling Asgard, Henry's imprisonment and rescue, and her own capture and torment at Vakyr's hands. They sat in silence for a time, listening to the waves outside and the crackling of the fire.

"You are a brave woman," said Jamri at last. "And uncommon strong, to resist a curse so evil. So ancient. There should be a special place in Nair-Hel for those who cast an Ond-Praell."

At this, Jamri spat on the floor, as though even the words caused her physical disgust.

"I do what I have to," replied Emma.

"This curse is an abomination. It can be laid at Odin's feet, like so much suffering in this world and others."

"What does Odin have to do with it?"

"He created the curse, many thousands of years ago. Odin and his ilk, the demigods, they rise again and again, incarnate in mortal form. And every time Odin rises, he always, always, falls in love with Freya."

"Freya?"

"A demigoddess, touched by Nótt, Goddess of the Night, just as Odin is touched by Dagr, God of the Day. They are opposites, analogues."

"Order of the Sun, Order of the Moon," murmured Emma, beginning to understand.

"Just so. As I was said, Freya rises again and again, and always she is pursued by Odin, but never in all their lives has he attained her love. It is their eternal tragedy, locked in a chase that never ends, just as the sun pursues the moon across the heavens, never catching it. In one cycle of their lives, long ago, Odin resorted to a terrible curse, the Ond-Praell. He created it to bind Freya to him, to make his desires her own."

"That's what Vakyr did to me," said Emma, sickened. "What happened to Odin and Freya? Why did he forbid it?"

"It worked, for a time. It went badly, though, in the end. In his next cycle, he made it a forbidden curse, punishable by death. The thing about the Ond-Praell is that it only works on those touched by the Diviner, the Goddess Nótt. She anoints some women with her touch, gifting them with special traits. I think you know what I mean. An ability to tell truth from lie? An inner strength that resists all efforts to influence it? Yes, you are touched by Nótt, of this I am sure. That you can Walk proves it. But the double-edged sword of the Ond-Praell is this: it can be turned against the wielder."

"How?" asked Emma, perched on the edge of her seat.

"With difficulty," replied Jamri, wryly. "The only way out is through."

"What does that mean?" asked Emma, exasperated.

"Did you ever try to physically harm Vakyr after he cast the curse? Ah, so you tried. And the result was terrible, yes?"

Emma shuddered, remembering breaking his nose during their last encounter, how the curse had magnified it back at her a thousandfold. It had been the worst pain she'd felt in her life.

"You have to be willing to endure it. You have to be willing to die. Only by embracing the pain, embracing death, can you kill the one who cast the curse. Not many are willing, in the end. The horror of the curse is that it saps the will. Most give in to the wielder's desires long before they reach the point of desperation needed to end it all."

"But Freya ended it? She killed Odin?"

"Yes, in that cycle both died. Apparently the curse was turned against him, so that at the end, Odin was powerless, in Freya's thrall, and she killed them both to free them of the bond, thereby ending that cycle. Apparently it was so excruciating for him that Odin forbade it ever after. Surprising that Vakyr was even able to learn how it was done."

Emma had paled. "So I'll have to die then, to get free of him."

"Probably."

"Great."

"I have another question for you, Emma Swan. Was your daughter touched by the divine before her birth?"

Emma froze. It was such an odd question, so on the nose, that Emma thought Jamri already knew the answer.

"How did you-? A sea goddess, Yemaja, she shared my body for a while. I was pregnant with Moriah. I always assumed that had something to do with her special powers after she was born."

"You are more right than you know. All the goddesses of life, love, fertility, they are derived from Nótt. If one such shared your body when you carried the child, then Nótt touched your daughter directly. Your daughter has been chosen as Freya's incarnate."

Emma sat still, blinking dazedly.

"Come again?"

"Your daughter. She's Freya's new incarnate. The prophecy, your disappearance into the Nightworld for years, which protected you and crucial allies from Asgard, not to mention your daughter's special gifts. It all has but one explanation."

"No," scoffed Emma. "I mean, yeah, she's powerful, but my daughter is still a normal kid. She's not a goddess!"

"Demigoddess. Incarnate in mortal form. So she's normal, eh? Never did anything extraordinary, or said anything in a language she couldn't possibly know, or wielded magic beyond her years?"

Emma's gut was churning. Sure, Moriah had spoken fluent elvish at her bonding ceremony, read ancient dead languages in books at the library of Soria Moria, opened portals at will from the age of two, and had already shown more magical power than she and Regina had combined…Emma gulped.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean-"

"Emma Swan, you should be proud. Proud! Your child was chosen to bring Nótt's daughter back to the world, to save us from Odin yet again. The Order of the Moon will serve her gladly when the time comes."

"No! She's not some ancient goddess! She's herself, her own person! She's not a…a reincarnation of someone else!"

"Stop shouting, girl. Of course she's herself. She is, in many ways, an ordinary child. But scratch the surface, and there are many, many past lives within. She will not be an average woman, when she is grown. As she matures, more and more of the ancient memories will unlock themselves, and eventually she will have a full grasp of magic and knowledge which you and I can only dream of. Don't you see? She is the only one who can defeat Odin! She can end this war and restore peace to the worlds!"

Emma paused at this. Killian had seen a vision, once, in the elf queen's mirror. He'd seen their daughter leading a vast army against Asgard. Could it really be true?

"But then, she's also in danger," choked Emma. "Until she grows into her power, she's vulnerable. And Vakyr is looking for her. When he was torturing me, all he wanted to know about was the girl. I knew about the prophecy, that he meant Moriah, but I didn't know why."

"Vakyr is not the worst of it," replied Jamri, quietly. Emma lifted her head, heart pounding.

"What could be worse than Vakyr?"

"Odin, of course. He loves her. And love is the most dangerous weapon of them all."


	12. Diverging Paths

Her right lung burned with every breath, as though she'd inhaled an ember. Regina cracked her eye open, and was rewarded with a sweeping view of peaceful night sky. Stars winked in a gentle blanket overhead, joined by two crescent moons. Memory returned to her in a flood. Asgard. She struggled to sit up, shivering. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her bones ached. Fever. Hands pressed her shoulders back down, and she quit struggling. That in itself was alarming. It was dark, and she could hear nothing except her own breathing, and a rustling breeze. Someone moved nearby.

"She's waking up?"

Ruby.

"Red?" rasped Regina, her voice sounding frail in her own ears.

"Yes, but she shouldn't move much. I healed what I could, but there was a lot of damage."

That voice…Rhys. Disjointed memories eddied through her muddled mind, of the temple, and Asgard.

"Henry?" she asked, or tried to. It came out as more of a croak. She thought briefly again of getting up, but her body felt heavy and light at the same time, as though all her strength had been siphoned away.

"He's fine, Regina," said Ruby, soothingly, patting her brow with a damp cloth. It felt wonderful on her burning forehead, but she shivered so hard her teeth chattered. "He's here."

With tremendous effort, Regina swiveled her head. If Henry was fine, where was he? She craned her neck, but most of her view was blocked by the lieutenant kneeling at her side. They appeared to be camped on a narrow, flat expanse of rock, surrounded by boulders and rocky outcroppings. A faint tang in the air told her the ocean was nearby. The only light was from the slender arcs of moon overhead.

"We're still in Asgard?" asked Regina, suddenly unsure if the double moons were a hallucination or if they were, in fact, still stuck on this cursed planet, a million miles from home.

"Yeah, but not for long," said Ruby. "We're working on it."

"Henry?" she asked, trying again to swivel her head to see around Ruby, who sighed heavily.

"Now, don't get mad," started the woman, a trifle nervously. "He went kind of crazy when he woke up. He didn't give us any choice."

Ruby shifted out of the way, revealing Rhys sitting next to a small campfire, and the slumped form of her son, curled up on the rock in a fetal position, unconscious. He was tied at the wrists and ankles, with a gag in his mouth. His face was caked with dried blood, and the swollen angle of his nose indicated a break. Regina sat up, her fury allowing her to ignore the jagged pain in her chest. She slowly turned her gaze on her lieutenant, who was watching her warily and had scooted just out of arm's reach.

"Explain," growled Regina, breathing in and out through flared nostrils.

"We had to get out of Asagarth in a hurry. You were stabbed during the escape," she explained, gesturing to Regina's chest. That explained the burning pain, then. "We made it to the docks and found the fishing boat, just like Jael told us to do. Henry woke up and wanted to know what happened."

"And you told him about Emma."

Ruby nodded, frowning unhappily. "He didn't take it well."

Regina snorted, then put a hand to her head woozily as the world tilted on its axis.

"You should lie down, General."

"I take it that your Asgardian friend has Henry to thank for that broken nose and black eye?"

Ruby winced. "Yeah, he wasn't very happy to see Rhys. We tried to explain that he's been helping us, but Henry just…lost it. Once we got to shore, we couldn't risk him flying off the handle so we had to resort to tying him up. Rhys has been keeping him unconscious with magic, says he'll heal faster if he rests anyway."

Regina grunted unhappily, not liking it, but understanding how the situation had gone down. She lay back down with a groan.

"Report, lieutenant," she said, tiredly, deciding to leave the question of Henry alone for the moment. Ruby looked relieved, and sat up straighter.

"We're a few miles inland, heading back for the portal which is due east from here. It's been slow going with the two of you knocked out, but we could make it there tomorrow morning if we set out before first light."

"No sign of Emma?" murmured Regina, rubbing the sore spot on her chest. She'd been injured in a hundred different ways over the years, but this was new. Turns out, being stabbed hurt like hell. She supposed she was lucky that Rhys was able to heal as much as he did. She studied the Asgardian distrustfully. Had he only helped her because she carried his heart in her chest? Her death would've meant his own, it was true. But he'd gone to such lengths to help them with this mission, and if he'd wanted to betray them he'd had plenty of opportunities. His face was shadowed deeply in his cloak, only the firelight catching his eyes told her he was awake and listening to their conversation. She'd have to figure out what to do with him when they got back to the EF. Surely, helping them as he had must've burned his bridges with Asgard. But could they trust him to join them, if she gave him back his heart?

"Henry kept insisting we had to go back for her. I tried to tell him that she wouldn't have wanted that," said Ruby sadly, head turned westward as though she were hoping to see Emma emerge from the darkness at any moment.

"No, she wouldn't have," replied Regina softly.

"Maybe she got away, though," said Ruby, sounding as though she was trying to convince herself.

"Yeah, maybe," she replied, equally doubtful. Regina remembered the flood of gray-robed men headed for Emma as they made their escape. Even the Savior couldn't have gotten out of that mess. But then, this was Emma Swan they were talking about.

"Any pursuers?"

"Probably," frowned Ruby, handing her a skin filled with drinking water. "But since we came by sea, we don't know how far ahead of them we actually are. We're worried they might have headed straight for the portal, to cut us off."

Regina's stomach turned, but she forced herself to swallow a few mouthfuls of the lukewarm water. She had to get her strength back.

"We should get going, if there's a chance they could beat us to the portal."

"General, you should rest-"

"We'll need you in wolf form, to scent any enemies approaching. Not to mention your night vision is excellent," replied Regina, ignoring the woman's protests as she climbed to her feet and immediately bent double, retching up the small amount of water she'd drunk.

"Regina-"

"I'll rest when we're back in the EF, lieutenant," she snapped, glaring with her good eye until Ruby nodded, lips pressed thinly together. Straightening, Regina turned her attention to the Asgardian and pointed at Henry's inert form.

"Put out that fire and pick him up, we're leaving, right now. Ruby…"

Regina paused. She was a little uncomfortable asking the woman for a ride, but it was becoming painfully clear that her legs wouldn't carry her more than a few steps. Ruby rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. She untied the belt of the gray robe she still wore, and let it fall to the ground as she transformed. Regina, and Rhys for that matter, both got an eyeful in the heartbeats before Ruby became a sleek brown wolf. Regina clambered on her back awkwardly as Rhys doused the fire without a word of protest and lifted Henry's limp form over his shoulder as though he weighed nothing. The Asgardian led the way through the rocky outcropping. Regina's head throbbed with each step, despite Ruby's smooth stride. She wound her fingers tightly in the thick fur, and focused her remaining strength on not falling off.

They traveled for several hours in silence, through fields and copses of trees lit only by moonlight. Finally, just when Regina's strength was flagging and her fingers were numb from holding herself on Ruby's back, Rhys held up a fist. The small stone fortress they had stayed in their first night in Asgard was now visible as a speck in the distance. Regina stifled a groan as she slid down to stand. She would've known they were close to the portal even if she hadn't been here before. Regina could feel a slight tug, as though the magic in the air here eddied and swirled around it, like rapids parting around a boulder. She tapped Ruby's shoulder, indicating with a few practiced hand signals that the wolf should do some reconnaissance, to see if the portal was being watched or guarded. The wolf bounded off on silent paws, leaving a worried-looking Asgardian watching her go. He caught Regina studying him and schooled his face to stillness.

"You love her."

It wasn't a question. Rhys scowled and ignored her, watching the grassy plain around them warily. Regina had seen the truth in his unguarded face. She might have his heart locked in her own chest, but that threat wasn't what had really motivated him to help them. He'd done it for Ruby.

"You can't go back, you know," she murmured. "To being a soldier for Asgard. They'll figure out you helped us, if they haven't already."

Rhys grunted, crossing his arms. "You think I don't realize that?"

"Join us."

He half-turned to her, quirking a brow in disbelief.

"I mean it. We could use you on our side. End this war, live in peace."

"Peace?" snorted Rhys. "I thought you were smarter than that, General. You saw the Order, what they're like. They won't stop, not until they've won and all the worlds are conquered."

"Join us anyway. Wouldn't you rather be on the right side of a losing war than on the wrong side of a winning one?"

Rhys bowed his head. In the shadow of his cowl, she couldn't make out his face.

"And of course, there's Ruby-"

As if her words had summoned her, the wolf slunk back into their midst and sat, swiveling her head between the two of them, eyes narrowed, as though she'd overheard their conversation.

"Well?" asked Regina, impatient. The wolf gestured calmly with her shaggy head that they should go, nudging her to climb aboard. Regina hauled herself on the wolf's back again, and they set off.

The portal was waiting, heavy, dark, and silent, yet it hummed with magic. The hair on the back of Regina's neck stood up as Rhys produced the small orb from his cloak, and the stones began their slow, impossible spin. They walked atop the sliding plinth, Regina shutting her eye against the nauseating sensation, as the field beyond winked away into a field of stars. They began the unworldly descent into the void, and were nearly far enough for Asgard to begin fading away behind them when a sensation of being watched made her shiver. Turning, her blood froze in her veins.

"Sentinel!" she yelped, spurring Ruby forward with her heels. "Run! Close it! Now!"

Rhys broke into a run in front of her, Henry's head bobbing against his back. Ruby surged forward too, easily outpacing the Asgardian. Regina risked a look back, her stomach dropping. The Sentinel pulled itself through the closing portal, and locked its eerily empty eye sockets on Regina. An ear-piercing metal screech rent the air and it launched itself toward them, gaining with every powerful bound. She reached for magic, but could barely muster a sputtering fireball. It fizzled and struck the stone way before reaching the gaining Sentinel, which didn't even bother to dodge it.

"Rhys!" she gasped. The Asgardian, without pausing, summoned a brilliant blue ball of crackling energy, and threw his hand out behind them in an elegant arc. The Sentinel took the blow in its shoulder, skidding backward and stumbling toward the edge of the pathway. Regina held her breath, hoping it would go over, but it quickly righted itself and resumed the chase. Regina thought furiously. Suddenly she heard Emma's voice clearly in her head, and she had an idea. A crazy one, but it might work.

Regina raised a hand in the air, and dragged every scrap of magic to her that she could still muster. A stream of red energy erupted from her outstretched palm, flowing upward into the starry sky. It exploded high overhead in a riot of colorful fireworks, accompanied by deafening cracks and booms to match. Rhys paused in his assault on the Sentinel and cast her a wide-eyed look that clearly questioned her sanity. Regina tucked herself tighter to Ruby's neck, praying that her gambit had worked. She didn't dare look back, knowing the Sentinel must be nearly upon them. Rhys's fireballs were slowing it, but not enough.

The Crossroads finally loomed ahead, and Regina held her breath, hoping madly. The path they were on arched like a bridge into the flat circle of the Crossroads, where it was joined by three identical bridges leading to other realms. A roar sounded, shockingly close, followed by rhythmic pounding that shook the very stones beneath their feet. Rhys glanced over at her in horrified comprehension, and shook his head. He increased his pace, realizing, as Regina did, that they needed to make it to the Crossroads to even have a chance of this working. They had just reached the flat expanse when the source of the roar emerged from the shadows beyond, and Regina found herself second-guessing her brilliant plan.

The troll was enormous, easily the height of the approaching Sentinel. Its skin was mottled, diseased-looking, and it had the starved, skeletal look of a creature who didn't see regular meals. The various horns protruding from its back and arms were so filthy with gore they were nearly black, and it was naked save for a necklace of yellowing human skulls. It saw them and roared again, the stench of its breath roiling her stomach. Emma had described their encounter in the Crossings with a three-headed troll. This specimen only had two, but that was plenty as far as Regina was concerned. Spittle dripped from the rotting, jagged teeth which lined both its mouths. Its eyes were solid black orbs, set deep beneath a hairy brow, and it watched them with a wild hunger. It swung an enormous hand, black claws raking through the air with lethal speed. Ruby leapt, but Regina's weight prevented her from clearing the monster's grasp cleanly. One of its knuckles hit her hind leg hard enough to send them sprawling.

Regina slid the width of the pathway, her legs dropping over the edge toward infinity with heart-stopping speed. She scrabbled for a handhold, breaking nails as she fought desperately to halt her momentum. She finally caught herself on a crevice in the cobblestones and hung on, her legs dangling over an eternal drop into nothingness. Ruby skidded over to her, snagging her robe with her teeth and helping her climb up. Breathing heavily, Regina got herself back onto solid ground with shaking limbs just in time to see Rhys launch a stream of fire at the troll's face. The monster dodged with surprising dexterity, then crouched and readied to pounce. Its massive black eyes swiveled to the bridge from which they'd come, and it roared again, this time with savage anger. The Sentinel had arrived, and was bearing down on Regina and Ruby. The troll, seeing his meal about to be stolen, launched at the Sentinel. The two met with a tremendous clashing of claws and snapping teeth, grappling violently.

Regina and Rhys exchanged alarmed looks: the creatures were grappling directly in their pathway back toward the EF. Rhys darted back to the pillar in the center of the Crossroads, Henry still mercifully insensible on his shoulder. He studied the markings, lips moving silently as he worked out the symbols.

"If we can't get past them, what are our options?" breathed Regina, trying to make sense of the markings.

"Svartálfaheimr is that way. Home of the Dvergar. Dark elves." he said, pointing down one of the other three paths. They couldn't retreat to Asgard, which left only one remaining path.

"Well? What's the other one lead to?"

"Nair Hel, or Helheimr. Land of the dead."

"The elves sound more appealing."

"You've obviously never met any Dvergar," he muttered, scowling.

Their debate was interrupted by a massive roar, as the troll, bleeding heavily from a dozen gashes, grabbed the Sentinel by the throat and slammed it on its back against the stone walkway. Dust rose and the sound of splitting rock reached them as the Sentinel was battered again and again against the ancient bridge. Dust plumed against the starry sky, giving Regina an idea.

"On three, hit the bridge in front of it," shouted Regina. She summoned magic, hoping Rhys had more gas left in the tank than she did.

"One, two, three!" she yelled, and aimed a blast at the troll's feet just as it slammed the Sentinel down on the bridge. Chunks of stone the size of cannonballs flew in all directions, and they ducked behind the pillar. The troll's howl faded away as it fell, the rubble of the destroyed bridge crumbling into the void along with it. Regina leaned limply against the stone, pressing her burning hot forehead to the rough surface.

"Well, that worked," she groaned.

"A little too well," said Rhys, surveying the damage. There was a span of missing stone the length of a football field yawning in front of them. There'd be no getting straight back to the EF by the route they had come.

"So, elves or dead people?" huffed Regina, the ember in her lung feeling more and more like a hot spike as the adrenaline retreated.

"The elven worlds were invaded by Asgard two weeks gone. It'll be a charnel-house. But I can't say visiting the world of the dead would be any safer. No one who has traveled there has ever returned, to my knowledge."

Regina exchanged weary looks with the wolf, who merely waited, panting. That was the most tiring thing about being the General: making all the decisions.

"Even if it is a war zone, we need to find allies in this fight. The elves are more likely to be an asset to us than a world full of ghosts."

Rhys nodded, shifting Henry's weight to his other shoulder. "Let's just hope we don't meet any more beasties on the way. Your fireworks display was probably visible for miles."

Regina shuddered, and not just from the return of her fever chills. They set off in the direction of Dvergar, keeping their eyes peeled.

"Emma was right about one thing," she muttered as they set off. "Not your average trolls around here."


	13. Nightworld

Emma scrubbed her plate and set it on the small wooden drain board. She dried her hands and stretched them overhead, cautiously. Her side gave a small twinge, but it was definitely feeling much better. Jamri's healing herbs, or whatever magic she used, had worked fast. The kettle whistled and she carefully poured out two mugs of tea, the bitter scent of blue Nightshade tingling her nose.

"You're sure about this, girl?" asked Jamri, who sat still and scowling, like a grumpy gargoyle, by the fireplace. Emma didn't respond, still couldn't respond, thanks to the curse, but handed the woman one of the mugs in answer. She took a seat on the small cot, blowing on the tea to cool it.

"If we do this, you must obey me completely," said the cut-wife, severely. Her eyes were twin shards of granite, humorless and gray. "Stay by my side. No drifting, not even a hairsbreadth. When I say we leave, we leave. Most importantly, you must hold onto your core being. Things in Nott's world can seduce you, alter you. Understood?"

Emma nodded, trying not to look too eager, and gulped the tea down in three swallows, ignoring the scalding of her tongue. Her lids became heavy almost immediately, and she barely had time to set the cup down and lay back. Her mind sank like a stone into the gray fog of Nott's world. When she opened her eyes, Jamri was already waiting for her, calmly sitting in her rocking chair. The room looked the same as the one she'd just left, except for the subtle sensation of unreality. She had the skin-crawling suspicion that she was being watched by unseen eyes.

"Meet me on the cliff above. Not by walking," muttered Jamri. She winked out of existence, leaving Emma blinking at the empty chair. Emma closed her eyes, imagining the salt wind in her face, the flat gray mirror of the sea stretched out before her, the feel of a dry mat of seagrass under her bare feet. Just like that, she was standing on the cliff's edge, the ocean breeze tossing her hair around her. Jamri grunted approval and set off along the weathered dirt path that led toward the forest. Emma followed, eager to ask questions now that she could speak. Vakyr's curse had no power in this place.

"When something changes in the real world, does it change here too?" asked Emma, in hushed tones. She'd gotten so used to not speaking that her own voice sounded strange in her ears.

"Yes."

"And if I change something here, does it work the other way?"

"No. Summon fire with your magic. Burn that bush there," instructed Jamri, pointing to a dead shrub. Emma raised a palm and formed a small flame, tossing it casually onto the spindly bush. The dry branches crackled and burned, leaving behind a blackened and shriveled skeleton.

"Is it burning in the real world?"

"Watch."

The charred branches slowly unfurled as she watched, the black receding until the bush was once again whole, unblemished.

"Huh. So I can affect things, but it's only temporary?"

"Including your own body, once you can hold onto your core being."

"So I could become a…bear? Or a bird? Or another person?"

"Animals are simpler."

"Can you do it? Show me."

Jamri raised an eyebrow.

"Please? You said you would train me," begged Emma.

The old woman scowled, but then spun slowly in place, her brown dress becoming rougher, hardening. She reached her stubby arms for the sky as branches grew from her hair and fingers, leaves unfurling for the sun. Emma walked around her in amazement. The oak tree wavered suddenly like a mirage and Jamri stood before her again.

"But you could disguise yourself as another person, too?"

Jamri grew in height a foot, her body narrowing at the waist and widening at the shoulders. Gray hair retreated into her scalp. Her nose and cheekbones sharpened as the jawline strengthened and grew stubble. The dark brown wool of her dress became the soft, flowing fabric of the Order's gray robes, complete with gold scabbard. Emma's thoughts evaporated in her panic, her pulse racing. She fell backward onto the grass, scrabbling away, as Vakyr stalked toward her, expression cruel and pitiless. He was going to hurt her again, he was going to make her tell him everything…

"No!" screamed Emma, heart pounding. Her hand found a rock, which she raised while wishing she had her gun instead. She was amazed to suddenly find a familiar pistol in her hand, but too freaked out to question it. She fired two shots before she'd even taken a breath. Vakyr ducked and summoned a shield of hardened air, almost too late. One bullet clanged against the shield, but the second nicked his leg, sending a spray of blood onto the grass.

Vakyr - no, Jamri - shouted, her voice her own, as she fell to the grass. Vakyr vanished, leaving the cut-wife panting and glaring angrily in his place.

"What the HELL?!" choked Emma, the gun becoming a rock in her hand once again. She gripped it tight, thinking she might still throw it at the crazy old woman.

"I wanted to scare you," snapped Jamri. "Show you what can happen in this place. You have to know what you might face here."

"Well, it worked," snapped Emma, furious. She helped Jamri to her feet, feeling an uncharitable satisfaction at the blood trickling down the woman's leg. The wound seemed to be real, even if the gun hadn't been. Jamri tore a strip of cloth from her dress and wrapped the wound, tying it with a firm yank.

"Another lesson for you. If you take an injury here, it is real. I will have this wound to tend when we return to the waking world," she said, sighing as she straightened. She eyed Emma, who was still clutching the rock and watching her distrustfully. "You did well, all things considered. You summoned a weapon to hand and defended yourself, though you wasted time panicking. Now, you try."

"Try what?"

Jamri crossed her arms. "Change. Something easy. Pick an animal. But do not let it overcome your mind. Return to your true form right away, no dawdling."

Emma's blood was still pounding, her adrenaline high. She took a deep breath and imagined Vakyr coming for her again.

There must be a better way to defend herself in this place than imagining a gun. Why not become a weapon herself? Something that Vakyr would hesitate to tangle with. Taking a deep breath, she focused her mind. It was a bizarre sensation to feel her body shifting, but she kept her eyes closed, concentrating. Her bones lengthened, and there was a wondrous weight on her back that shifted as she flung her wings wide, stretching. She sniffed the air, her tail flicking behind her.

"Interesting choice," murmured Jamri, walking around her with eyes wide. She looked impressed, despite herself. "Complex creatures, dragons. Now return to your core self."

But Emma flapped her midnight wings, reveling in their delicate strength. She launched into the air as she'd seen Toothless do countless times, and hovered over the trees, unable to resist the urge to fly. Opening her jaws wide, she shot a blast of indigo dragonfire at the forest, and snarled in satisfaction as a huge swath of trees blew apart. She didn't wait to watch them knit themselves back together again, turning in a wide circle over the cliff and winging out to sea on the swirling currents. It was exhilarating. She'd never felt so free, so powerful! The wind beckoned, the sky suddenly like a map whose contours she could suddenly read, and she snapped her wings open wide as she caught the updraft. Sleek, powerful, untethered…just as a dragon ought be. A sudden weight on her back startled her, and she twisted her long neck to see what it was. A human was on her back, uninvited! She roared, and spun downward trying to dislodge the intruder. Then she was falling through the sky, wingless, her naked human limbs flailing as she plummeted toward the sparkling waves below. A brown sparrow flitted around her, chittering furiously as though chastising her. The water was hurtling upward, a flat gray mirror. Thinking only of survival, she desperately reshaped herself again, and dove into the blue expanse, all grace and smooth scales. She swam into the deepening shadows, savoring the cool water sifting through her gills. It was calm and silent, beneath the heavy waves. Something grabbed her tail, hauling her up out of the watery depths. She flopped onto wood boards, gasping for air.

"What the hell?" she gasped. Jamri was seated in the prow of the small rowboat, eyes glittering with fury. With a lightning fast strike, the old woman slapped Emma hard across the face.

"What was the most important rule, Emma Swan? Tell me."

Emma glared back at her, touching her tongue gingerly to her split lip, and hauled herself up to sit.

"To not forget my core self," she muttered, knowing that she'd just failed her first lesson. Badly.

"Tell me what happened."

"It was so powerful, I didn't even try to fight it," admitted Emma, wringing water from her wet hair. "It was so easy to just…become something else, and forget everything."

Jamri's eyes held no sympathy. Her lips were pressed tightly together in a thin, disapproving line. She watched Emma for several long, uncomfortable moments. Shaking her head, she seemed to come to some decision.

"Until you can master yourself, you have no business in the Dreamworld, girl. You wouldn't be the first novice to lose herself here, leaving an empty body behind in the waking world."

"An empty body? I'd just never wake up?" asked Emma, horrified to realize how close she'd just come to losing herself. Permanently.

"Only two things can happen to those who forget their core selves: either you would remain a dragon, or a fish, leaving an empty shell in the waking world which would eventually weaken, and die. Or, even worse, you would wake in your body but with the mind of a dragon, or a fish, living the rest of your days writhing in madness. Does either appeal to you?"

Emma shook her head, shamed by the thought that she'd nearly doomed herself by not taking Jamri's warnings seriously enough. This place was more dangerous than she'd expected.

"You are not weak, girl. You can learn. But you must try harder!"

"I am trying!"

"Enough. I will have to consider whether to allow you to attempt it again."

"Wait, please! I have to learn! You don't understand, I need to find my friends."

"Friends? Or someone in particular?" asked Jamri, raising an eyebrow shrewdly. Emma blushed, but held the other woman's gaze steadily.

"My husband. I have to let him know I'm alive."

"No! I have warned you many times. Until you are strong enough, you cannot seek out his dreams. The deeper the emotions run between Dreamer and Walker, the harder it will be to disentangle yourself."

"But-"

"No."

The rocking of the boat ceased, and Emma jerked in surprise as she found herself sitting back on the cot in Jamri's cave.

There was no understanding in the woman's gray eyes as she waved a hand, and shackles appeared on Emma's leg, pegging her to the floor.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, tugging on the chains.

"You are desperate. And desperate girls do desperate things. Just ask a cut-wife."

"So you're tying me up?" snarled Emma.

"Sleep. True sleep, mind you. The chains will keep you from wandering Nott's world any further tonight."

"Wait!" yelled Emma, into the empty room. She grabbed the empty tea mug in a temper, splashing the dregs and shards of clay onto the hearth. She paced the small room as far as the chain would allow, trying with all her might to imagine the shackle popping open. But whatever magic Jamri had worked on it was strong, and she remained firmly tethered. When she looked again at the hearth, the teacup had returned to its place, dregs intact. Disappointment hollowed her out, leaving her feeling drained and miserable. She hadn't admitted to herself just how badly she'd wanted to find Killian's dreams tonight. She sank onto the cot and lay back, staring sulkily at the moon and stars carved into the ceiling. Imagining the women who had chiseled them with magic into the stone, thousands of years ago, she felt true sleep rise up to take her, rhythmic chanting and striking stone echoing in her ears.

The blackness shifted, became soft, infinite. She had stumbled back into that place where people's dreams hung suspended like bubbles in champagne. They twinkled merrily, calling to her. There were some that shined more brilliantly than others, with a familiar warmth that pulled at her. There were also a few that glowed with a malevolence that frightened her, and she steered away. If Jamri was to be believed, anyone dreaming could pull her in if she got too close, even Vakyr. She shuddered, and wove carefully amongst the glowing lights, searching for one in particular. Her breath stopped when a star winked at her playfully, its corona shimmering with shades of ocean blue and summer sky. Swooping toward it, she had a moment's hesitation, Jamri's warnings in her ear. But the star's heat and light called to her, and she flew on swift, silent wings into its waiting light.


	14. Sweet Dreamwalks

The salty, sweaty bustle of Tortuga flowed around Killian as he stood in the sandy street, listening hard over the chaos of casks of ale being unloaded from the docks. A rough looking sailor, short, gristly and reeking of unwashed body and rum, shouldered him hard as he went by. Killian raised his hook, letting it do the talking for him. The man eyed him, spat on the ground, and, apparently having thought better of picking a fight, went on his way.

The cry came again, faintly, and Killian's feet moved before he'd even consciously registered it. The buildings shifted and blurred strangely as he ran, the chatter and heat and noise of the port town receding as he followed the barely audible wail. Moriah needed him. His heart raced but he willed himself not to panic. He would find her. He paused at a ramshackle corner amidst a dingy part of the warehouse districts not far from the piers. The cries had stopped.

"Moriah!" he yelled, cupping his hand. A few passerby gave him odd looks, but he paid them no mind. A wagon rattled past on rickety wheels, and there was the ever-present slosh of water against the seawall, but he heard no whisper of his little girl. He spun slowly on the spot, murder building in his heart. He'd lost his wife, he'd be damned if he'd lose his daughter too.

"Daddy!"

The cry was faint, but it might as well have been a shout in his ear. He set off at a run up the winding street that led away from the harbor, boots crunching on the sandy stone. Tortuga didn't have a bad part of town: it was simply rotten from stem to stern. The area he was ascending toward had a particularly shabby aspect, however. Leering prostitutes lingered in the darkened doorways, pitching their wares lewdly to the unwashed array of sailors and merchants and pirates thronging the streets. In his younger days, he'd fit right in. Now, his chest constricted at thinking of his innocent child in this wretched place. The shadows lengthened suddenly, as though even the sun conspired against him.

A figure disappeared around a corner a number of blocks ahead, a mane of blonde hair swishing across a red leather jacket. He stood stock still a moment, stunned. Sprinting, he skidded around the corner and scattered a trio of prostitutes, choking on the cloud of cheap perfume. They cursed him in the profane patois of the island, with detail that made his ears burn, but he didn't pause. The gloom was deepening as Tortuga descended into a bruised twilight, casting the narrow alleyways into velvet darkness perfect for concealing foul deeds. Emma could handle herself, he knew, but this was Tortuga. He sped his steps.

"Get your hands off me pal, I'm warning you," snapped a familiar voice. Swan! It was her, and no mistake. She was backing warily against a wall, reaching for a gun at her hip that wasn't there. A group of drunken, leering pirates had encircled her.

"You're a fresh one, ain't ye darlin'!" drawled a filthy man with a peg leg, rubbing his hands together. "Look at that hair, like spun gold. Do the rest of her hair look the same, do ye figure, mates?"

One of his greasy fellows reached for her, and she caught his wrist with a strike like an adder, twisting it violently as she kicked at her assailant's knee. The man went down, howling through missing teeth, and the rest of his companions stumbled forward to join the fray. Killian launched himself at their backs, hook and cutlass swinging. He caught Emma's stunned expression, her beautiful eyes wide with astonishment, and then she was back to back with him, pressing the men out into the open street with sweeps of his sword. It was a short fight. The men who could still walk stumbled off into the night, to nurse their wounds with more willing women.

"Well, this wasn't exactly what I was expecting. You couldn't have dreamed us a nice beach getaway, could you?" grumbled Emma, a wry smile on her lips as she surveyed their surroundings.

Dream? What was she talking about? He had reached for her instinctively, wanting more than anything to kiss her, feel her in his arms, inhale her scent. But her words gave him pause. He frowned. Was this a dream? He supposed it must be. He had no good explanation for why he was in Tortuga, or even who had taken Moriah. He simply knew he had to find her and keep her safe. And then there was the unaccountable fact of his wife being here. That convinced him above anything, for she had left him. Left their daughter. Killian scowled and resumed his walk back up the street, a roiling anger building. He caught Emma's look of shocked hurt as he'd turned away. Good. There was some justice in her pain, he thought. He'd not truly admitted to himself just how unhappy with her he'd been when she'd thrown herself headlong into the lion's den, with hardly a goodbye. Now that he'd seen her, though, he found himself simmering with repressed fury.

"Killian, wait!"

He didn't slow down. Even if this were a dream, the urgent panic to find Moriah, hadn't yet faded, and he couldn't rest until she was safe in his arms. Listening again, he gestured impatiently to Emma to hush. Venting his feelings at her would have to wait. She looked around confusedly.

"What are we doing in Tortuga, Killian?" she whispered. "Why won't you talk to me?"

He ignored her and kept walking. She huffed indignantly and grabbed his arm. He shook her off, but after a few steps he changed his mind and whirled on her. There were indeed a few things he wanted to say to Emma Swan. If this was a dream, so much the better, for he could be perfectly honest and not spare her feelings.

"Because I'm bloody mad at you, woman!" he growled, grabbing her arms. His hook dug into her, causing her to yelp, but he didn't let go.

"What? You're angry with ME?"

"Angry doesn't begin to cover it, love. You threw yourself right into the most dangerous place in the universe, without me by your side! In five years, we've never been apart so much as a day. We've always won through, against all odds, as long as we were together. And you LEFT me behind. Left your daughter!"

"Killian, I-"

"I heard all of your reasons when you informed me you were heading off to bleeding Asgard. You think I don't bloody understand WHY you did it? But that doesn't mean I'm not angry, Emma, or that it doesn't bloody gut me that when you had to choose, you left me and the lass with hardly a backward glance."

"You think it was easy for me?" gasped Emma, tears welling. "I had no choice!"

"There's always a choice, love. You made yours, and it's those you left behind that have to suffer the consequences. Your daughter especially. Moriah needs her mother. I can't do this alone, Emma!"

A note of desperation had crept into his voice, which was rough from yelling. Emma's face softened slightly, as if she'd seen what truly lay behind his words.

"Is she…doing okay?"

He forced himself to breathe more calmly, nostrils flaring with the effort. He swallowed more bitter words he wanted to throw at her. She was watching him with wide eyes, clearly stung by his behavior. He felt a sharp pang of remorse, but he was still too pissed off to care. Weeks of pain and worry had finally taken their toll on him, and he was in no mood to be forgiving.

"I was looking for the lass when you showed up," he finally replied, setting off again. She hurried to catch up. "Help me find her, then we'll talk."

Emma nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line. Her cheeks were bright pink as they always were when her emotions ran high. They continued up the winding street, carefully not looking at one another.

"Mommy!" whimpered a small voice from somewhere above them, just when he'd begun to despair. They stood in front of a squat fortress constructed of large blocks of sandstone. It was the Tortuga gaol, which he unfortunately knew from personal experience. Not the worst of places to sleep off a night spent in the taverns, but far from pleasant. There were no windows relieving the sheer wall, only an unfriendly wooden door, heavily barred. A dozen rusty iron cages hung from the turrets overhead, dangling their macabre occupants a full story above the ground. A few were empty, but most held decaying corpses or men well on their way to joining them. One, swaying just above them, held Moriah. She wore a snow white nightgown, and knelt at the bars of the cage stretching her hands down to them. A dove caught in a rusty trap. Her heart-shaped face was streaked with dirt and tears which sparkled in the moonlight, and the distress in her eyes struck his breast like a knife.

"Daddy!"

"Hold on, love! I'll get you down!"

He banged on the door. No one answered. He turned to find Emma raising her hands toward the cage, as if summoning magic. Nothing happened. She cursed in frustration and glared at him, hands on her hips.

"Killian, this is a dream. YOUR dream. I know you're pissed at me, but if you don't let me work magic, I can't help!"

"Me? I've never been able to stop you from doing exactly what you bloody well wanted to do, have I?" he tossed back at her. They glared at one another for a moment, until she turned away with tears in her eyes. He felt a curious mix of heartache and satisfaction. They had rarely fought like this in all their years together. Bloody hell. He banged on the door again. Nothing. His daughter screamed and his heart stopped. Moriah was pointing out at the ramshackle city that flowed downward from this hill toward the sea, where dozens of ships lay at anchor. Fire had blossomed at the docks, spreading at an impossible speed from mast to mast. Not again! The flames boiled over Tortuga like a wave of lit oil, and this time his daughter was trapped in a cage. He ran to the stone wall of the gaol, fingers and hook scrabbling for purchase. He'd climb up to her. The streets surged with people fleeing, the screams and panic rending the tropical air. Acrid smoke reached his nostrils, and the night sky began to glow eerily, a perverse sunset. His nails broke as he clawed at the stone, fruitlessly trying to haul himself up.

"Killian, that won't work," said Emma, calmly. "Listen to me, please."

He hung his head, knowing she was right. Her firm grip encircled his fingers, tugging him toward her. It would be foolish to hang on to his fury, not with the flames approaching. Emma stepped into his arms and he closed his eyes with a weary sigh.

"I know you're angry with me," came Emma's voice, muffled against his chest, "but you have to let me help her. Please."

He murmured an assent, and she stepped away. Lifting her arms, she made a gesture at the chain which held Moriah's cage. This time, her magic flowed. With a clanking fit to raise the dead, the chain slipped free of the anchor and the cage lowered gently to the ground. Another gesture had the door swinging open, and then Moriah was in his arms, wrapping herself around his torso. Emma's arms banded about them both, cocooning their daughter between them. They soothed the little girl's sobs with gentle words and kisses, but there wasn't much time. The flames were spreading to the roofs of the houses along the street, and he could feel the heat at his back as Tortuga burned.

"Killian, take us home," whispered Emma. He closed his eyes and thought of the Jolly Roger, and, just like that, the ship was rocking gently beneath his feet. It was a starry night. Peaceful. Calm. The breeze was light and clean and teased Emma's hair around them in a silver swirl. He felt bone weary, drained from the fight with Emma more than anything.

"I'll put her to bed," murmured Emma, expression soft as she gently lifted Moriah's sniffling form from his arms, which felt empty without his daughter's slight weight. He stood at the rail, staring out to sea. So this must be a dream, after all. How else to explain how they'd ended up back on his ship with nought but a heartfelt wish to be there? Boards creaked softly as Emma leaned against the rail by his side, close but not touching. They looked out over the dappled ocean, the moon a perfect white disk. He studied his wife in profile, the porcelain of her skin as flawless as ever, but the tightness around her eyes betrayed her worry. He knew her too well not to see it, even by moonlight. Heart aching, he wanted to comfort her, but regret for the words he'd said earlier in anger kept him silent now. He wanted to make things right between them, but didn't know where to begin.

"I'm sorry," she finally said, softly, her gaze distant. "I had to go, and I don't regret it. Henry was in bad shape. Another day and we would've been too late."

Killian raised his eyebrows. "So you've saved the lad? Are you coming-"

He stopped himself, shaking his head. She watched him curiously, waiting for him to finish his thought. He shrugged.

"I must be going mad, asking you questions as if…" he trailed off, frowning. "You're just a figment of my imagination, like the rest of this rotten dream."

He pulled his flask from his pocket and took a long draught. Emma held out a hand, eyes still watching the horizon. He handed it over, and watched as she sipped the rum, unable to look away as she ran her tongue over her full lips.

"I haven't tasted in rum in years," she said, voice low and rough either from alcohol or feeling, he didn't know which. They drank in silence for a while, suddenly a little awkward. He could tell Emma was trying to figure out what to say to him. Finally she began to speak, at the same time he opened his mouth to apologize.

"For what I said earlier, love-"

"I'm sorry for leaving-"

They both exhaled heavily, exchanging slight smiles. He gestured for her to continue.

"If there'd been any other way…but that's not important right now. You have to listen to me, Killian: you're dreaming. But I'm also really here. I'm visiting your dream, from where I am in Asgard."

Killian raised a brow. "Sorry, love. Not sure I follow."

"I managed to get out of Asagarth, but I got separated from Regina and the others. I'm staying with a woman who's teaching me something called Dreamwalking. My body is still in Asgard, sleeping, but my mind traveled through a place called the Nightworld, and that's how I found you. It's like another dimension, or something."

"You're in another realm, but you're also really here? In my dream. Right now."

"Yes."

"Can you prove it? How can I know you're really here, and not just an especially lovely apparition?"

Emma smiled wickedly. "If I were just a part of your dream, wouldn't I be more naked?"

"Good point, love," he replied, raking his eyes over her beautiful form, which was, in fact, altogether too covered for his liking.

Emma frowned, considering. "Jamri warned me it'd be tough to convince you. The only thing I can think to do is tell you something that you don't know, but someone else does. Did I ever tell you what Elsa's son's name was, in her trial?"

Killian searched his memory, but couldn't come up with it. He shook his head. Emma had given him the outline of the poor lass's ordeal at Soria Moria, but few specifics.

"His name was Anders. Ask her, as gently as you can. Then you'll know I was really here."

"All right. Assuming what you say is true, where are you? You said you made it out of Asagarth. That's somewhere in Asgard, I take it?"

"Yeah, it's the capital city," replied Emma, tension in her voice. She turned away and gazed distantly out to sea. "It's where they had Henry."

"And you got the boy out?"

"They got him out of the city. Ruby and Regina and Rhys. I don't know if they've made it back to the portal yet though."

"What about you?"

"I…got caught, during the breakout. It took some time to escape. I was injured and Jamri, the Dreamwalker, she found me. Once I'm strong enough, I'll head for the portal. Another day or two, tops."

Her hands were clenched tightly on the rail, so that the knuckles shone white in the moonlight. She kept her voice casual, but he knew her too well. Something was very wrong, and dread turned the rum to lead in his gut.

"Swan? Emma? What happened, love?" he asked, turning her gently toward him. He slid his hook beneath her chin and tilted her face up. "Are you all right?"

She cast her eyes up to the heavens, blinking back tears. "I'm fine. I will be fine."

"Are you badly hurt? I can find a way to get to you-"

"No!" she said, a shudder passing through her. She leaned into him and buried her face in his shoulder. His arms slid around her, marveling for the millionth time how well she fit tucked against his side. "No. I'm nearly to the portal anyway. Where should I try to meet you guys? Are you in Berk?"

There was a forced lightness, as though she were trying very hard to shift the subject away from herself. He had a strong suspicion that things were far from safe for his wife at the moment. And like the fool he was, he'd wasted precious time arguing, blaming her for being precisely the brave woman he'd fallen in love with. He tightened his arms around her until their leather jackets creaked.

"I'm sorry, love, for what I said earlier. I was angry, but it's not your fault."

"It's Asgard's fault, Killian. I'm going to make sure he pays for what he's done."

"He?" he asked, tensing suddenly in protective fury. Who had she encountered there, who could put such a note of fear and hatred in his Swan's voice?

"They, I mean. Never mind. Listen, I'm serious about finding you when I get through the portal to the EF. You still haven't told me where you guys are."

Killian sighed. He recognized when Emma was prepared to be stubborn, and let her change the subject. She'd tell him when she was ready.

"We're anchored well off shore from Camelot, deciding our next move. We made a rescue of Arthur's knights from the dungeons yesterday. It was a near thing, but we made it out to the ship all right. Arthur wants to stay and organize an uprising with his knights, against his half-sister Morgana, but Elsa wants to set sail for Arendelle now. We've been to Berk and Dunbroch thus far."

"Did you find everyone's families?"

"Yes and no," he said, heart heavy with what they had found in their friends' lands. "It's a long story, Swan. I'll save it for when I see you in person, eh? We didn't find the vast army of reinforcements Regina was looking for, either, I'm afraid. We have a few dragons in addition to Toothless, and a handful of ragged knights. That's about it, unless Arthur can take back control of Camelot, which is more or less intact."

"And Moriah, is she doing okay?"

Her voice was small, laced with anxiety, and it provoked another rush of remorse for his harsh words earlier. "Aye, the lass is doing well, all things considered. Misses her mum something terrible."

"And what about you?" whispered Emma. The warmth of her breath brushing his neck was intoxicating, and if this were truly a dream, he didn't want to wake up. "I thought you were mad at me."

"Oh, I am, Swan. But only because I miss you so damned much," he whispered back, and, tilting her face up, kissed her gently. She opened her lips to him, tongues tangling sweetly, and he groaned.

"Wait!" she cried, pulling back.

"Wait?" he asked, breathlessly, puzzled. He nuzzled her neck, trailing kisses toward her collarbone.

"In case you wake up, you have to remember two things: ask Elsa the question, and wait for me in Arendelle. I'm going to catch up to you, somehow. I'll need a few days to get to the portal and then I'll make my way back to the EF."

"But how will you get from the EF to Arendelle? Without Moriah, you won't be able to make a portal."

"I'll figure something out," she whispered, and put her hands on either side of his face, pulling him down to kiss her. His hard length now straining the laces of his breeches, he buried his fingers in her hair insistently. Her fingers ran down his chest, tugging impatiently at the buttons there.

"Oh Emma, love," he murmured. He wanted to take her right there, standing against the rail. But he'd been rough with her this night. The beautiful thing about dreams, once you knew you were dreaming, was how malleable they were. He grinned wickedly against her lips, and before she could ask what he was up to, he imagined precisely what he wanted to happen next. A sharp intake of breath, and her eyes went wide.

"Killian!" she whispered, shocked. Naked skin pressed warmly against naked skin as he bent to sweep her into his arms. The bed had appeared exactly as he wished it, the white pillows strewn with rose petals. A thousand candles covered the deck of the Jolly Roger, something he would never have allowed in real life, but which made for a gorgeous, seductive tableau in a dream.

Emma clung to him as he lay her down, tears glistening on her cheeks. He kissed them away, tongue lingering along the damp edges of her lashes. She tugged him down between her legs, and he found her ready for him, slick heat against the head of his straining cock an invitation he was helpless against. He slid in, and in, and in, urged by her hands gripping his buttocks, until he was plunged deep and sure within her. They lay still, watching each other in the golden light, love surging strong and steadfast between them. Emma shifted her hips, and he began a slow rhythm in harmony with their languorous kiss, and she locked her legs tight around him, arching her back to pull him deeper. He groaned and shut his eyes, wanting it to go on forever but unable to resist the onward rush propelling him forward. The need to pour himself into her, make her his, bind them together forever, overwhelmed his senses, and carried by roaring rapids, he flew over the cliff and let the waters claim him. He was dimly aware of Emma crying his name as she came beneath him, her body tightening around his with pulsing bands of hot silk. Collapsing atop her body, soft and firm and sweaty and glorious, he gasped for air as the world spun. What a bloody marvelous dream, he thought distractedly, as her fingers traced feathery patterns on his back, where her nails had scratched heated furrows moments before.

"Killian?"

"Mmm?"

"I love you," she whispered, voice thick like honey.

He raised his head with tremendous effort, and kissed her gently. Rolling them over, he lay back on the soft pillows and tucked her against him, keeping himself inside her all the while. He was in no hurry to sever their connection, and she must have felt the same for she shifted her hips as she snuggled against him, maintaining their bond. His good hand lingered on the heavenly swell of her bum, then trailed its way up her spine. She stiffened just as his muddled mind registered what his fingertips were tracing. Jerking upright as though stung, she perched atop him, looking suddenly fearful, or ashamed.

"Emma, what the bloody hell-" he gasped, horrified, reaching to turn her around. What had happened to her back? From the feel of it, she was scarred from neck to buttocks. Had someone WHIPPED her? Rage and shock drove him upward as she scrambled away, keeping her back turned from his view. She snatched a sheet from the bed and wrapped herself in it, whether for her own sake or his he couldn't tell. There'd also been a scar he hadn't noticed before, standing out starkly on her ribcage. He knelt on the bed, heart aching and reeling with fear. He reached out for her, and she stepped back.

"Don't look at me, Killian. I…I don't want you to see it."

"Who did that to you?" he choked. She hesitated, clearly not wanting to tell him. "I'll kill-"

"There's nothing you can do," she whispered, closing her eyes, full of pain. "When I find you," she continued, meeting his gaze, her voice stronger, "I'll tell you what happened. Wait for me in Arendelle, Killian."

He stumbled to his feet, reaching for her, but his arms closed on empty air. She was gone.

Killian startled awake in his hammock on the deck of the Jolly Roger. Barely making it to the railing in time, he retched over the side of the ship.

"Are you all right?" asked Hic, handing him a canteen.

Breathing raggedly, he swigged the tepid water and spat, hands shaking.

"I need to talk to Elsa, lad. I think my wife is in serious trouble."

Hic raised a questioning brow, but nodded as he threaded his way along the crowded deck. Between knights, dragons, Merida's family and the rest of the misfits they'd collected on their journey thus far, the Jolly Roger was jammed full. Killian leaned against the rail, head in his hand, until soft steps announced the return of Hic, with a groggy Queen of Arendelle in tow.

"Sorry to disturb, your majesty," he said quietly. "But I have to ask you something. You're not going to like it, but I have to know for sure."

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!" whispered Elsa, snapping awake.

"Hic, give us a moment, would you?"

The lad stepped as far away as conditions would allow, his thin face grave.

"I hate to ask, Elsa, but I've just had a rather bizarre experience and this is the only way I can know for sure."

"Know what?"

"Whether I've just gotten a message from Emma, or if it was merely a crazed dream."

Elsa waited, clearly puzzled.

"What was the name of your child, in your trial?"

The queen's pretty face, already pale in the moonlight, whitened further. She swayed, then stood rigid, fists clenched.

"I'm sorry to ask, Elsa. Trust me that it comes from dire need."

"Anders," she said, barely audible. Killian reeled, bending at the waist and bracing his hand on his knee. He felt as though he'd taken a blow to the head.

"Killian, are you all right? What in the hell is going on?" said Elsa, aghast.

"Emma," he gasped. "It was real. She came to me in my dream, but I didn't want to believe…oh god."

"Emma?" asked Elsa, confused. She patted his shoulder awkwardly. "What do you mean, she came to you in a dream?"

"She said she was in Asgard but she'd learned how to walk in people's dreams. She wanted me to know that she would find me in Arendelle. I didn't believe her, so she said to ask you that question. Then I would know that she was really there."

Elsa had recovered her composure. "I take it that she told you the answer, and it was correct?"

"Aye. She was really there," he said, throat constricted. Those scars…he couldn't bear to think of her being hurt. He'd kill the bastard, whoever he was. If Emma didn't get to him first, knowing her. He was stuck here, worlds away, unable to do a bloody thing. Damn it all to hell! He dug his hook into the wood, shoulders shaking with pent fury and fear.

"We need to get to Arendelle, Elsa," he finally said. He couldn't get to Emma in Asgard, but he could meet her where she told him to go. If she didn't show up though…he would have to find a way to travel those bloody Crossings.

"When do we leave?" she replied. He expected her to sound more eager, given how badly she wanted to get home. But he realized that to go would mean leaving behind a man she clearly loved, in a situation with less than favorable odds.

"Arthur will have to plan his uprising without us," he said, a question in his voice as he straightened to look her in the eye. She nodded sadly but stood regally tall, looking every inch a Queen. A queen who knew the cost of protecting her people, and was ready to pay it.

"We set sail at dawn, then. Let's wake the others."


End file.
